C  sl3-  rfe*.h 


ora  2- 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO 
WEEKS  ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine 
of  FIVE  CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  was 
taken  out  on  the  day  indicated  below: 


THE 


Heirs  of  St.  Kilda 


A  Story  of  the  Southern  Past 


BY 

JOHN    W.   MOORE 


"I  held  it  truth  with  him  who  sings— 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on   stepping-stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things." 

In  Memoriam. 


RALEIGH  : 
EDWARDS,  BR0UGHT0N  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 

1881. 


Copyrighted  1880, 
By  JOHN  W.  MOORE. 


PEESSES    OF 

EDWARDS,  BROUGHTOS  &  CO., 
Raleigh,  N.  C. 


m 


NO 


TO 
EUGENE  GEISSOM,  M.  D.,  LL.  D. 


To  You,  dear  friend,  in  whose  large  soul 
My  spirit  finds  its  counterpart  ;  — 
I  bring  this  offering  of  my  heart ; 

And  picture  times  grown  gray  and  old. 

Perhaps  your  love  will  hide  the  faults 
That  will  be  seen  by  other  eyes  ; 
And  you,  too,  bless  the  sacred  ties 
That  bind  us  to  our  Southern  vaults. 

On  clanging  fields  so  deeply  dyed, 

Our  strength  was  wasted  man  by  man 
Yet  cling  we  to  our  father-land, 
And  in  our  ancient  faith  abide. 

God  bless  us  and  th  e  things  we  love  — 
God  help  us  cleave  unto  the  right  ; 
Uplifted  to  sublimest  height, 

Transfigured  with  the  lights  above. 


PREFACE. 

»  .... 

In  the  altered  condition  of  affairs  seen  in  the  South, 
the  author  of  this  book,  like  many  others,  has  been  led 
by  the  stress  of  circumstances  into  different  paths  than  he 
was  wont  to  follow  in  happier  days.  Had  the  late  war 
between  the  States  resulted  differently,  it  is  highly  im- 
probable that  this  work  would  have  been  undertaken. 
In  the  wreck  and  change  wrought  upon  our  social  life 
arose  a  mute  cry  for  vindication  against  the  cruel 
slanders  and  caricatures  which  have  been  published  to 
the  world  as  true  pictures  of  our  inner  life  as  a  people. 
The  possibility  that  posterity  may  be  deceived  as  to  the 
truth  concerning  the  men  and  women  of  the  South 
preceding  and  during  the  late  Revolution,  has  induced 
the  attempt  at  their  portrayal  here  submitted  to  the  public. 

It  can  certainly  appear  neither  unnatural  nor  presump- 
tuous in  us  who  participated  in  the  long  agony  endured 
in  defence  of  our  institutions  to  be  sensitive  as  to  the 
opinions  of  those  who  are  and  shall  be  in  positions,  where 
the  truth  may  not  be  known  concerning  us  and  our 
ways.  We  did  not  shed  so  much  of  our  best  blood  to  up- 
hold a  cause,  which,  when  fully  understood,  will  be  likely 
to  make  us 

"Fixed  figures  for  the  time  of  scorn 
"  To  point  a  slow  unmoving  finger  at." 


6  Preface. 

This  story  will  be  found  to  contain  but  little  of  the  real 
controversy  between  us  and  the  people  who  so  long  and 
successfully  sought  our  undoing.  The  effort  was  made 
to  avoid  those  memorable  differences  of  opinion,  and  the 
author  has  contented  himself  with  the  simple  portrayal 
of  Southern  men  and  women  as  he  knew  them  in  the 
days  of  oheir  peace  and  prosperity.  The  motives  control- 
ling such  an  essay  may  be,  in  all  modesty,  claimed  as 
nobler  than  the  production  of  a  mere  love  story.  It  is 
hoped  that  the  "  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda,"  will  justify  the  claim 
that  it  is  a  faithful  picture  of  our  lost  civilization. 

In  the  elaboration  of  the  structure,  the  ordinary 
resources  of  the  literary  artist  were  found  insufficient, 
and  unusual  agencies  have  been  invoked  to  fill  out  the 
canvas.  Many  novel  readers  will  be  doubtless  shocked 
at  the  introduction  of  Gov.  Eustace's  valedictory,  but  the 
burden  of  his  discourse  contained  so  much  of  themes 
then  filling  the  popular  mind  that  their  omission  would 
have  marred  the  completeness  of  the  exposition.  The 
nature  of  the  plot  and  the  customs  of  wealthy  people 
required  the  removal  of  the  leading  characters  from  the 

earlier  scenes.     It  was  said  by  Edmund  Spenser 

• 

"That  all  this  famous  antique  history 
Of  some,  the  abundance  of  an  idle  brain 
Will  judged  be,  and  painted  forgery 
Rather  than  matter  of  just  memory; 
Sith  none  that  breathes  living  air  doth  know 
AVhere  is  that  happy  land  of  Faery 
Which  I  so  much  do  vaunt  yet  no  where  show." 


Preface.  7 

The  inquisitive  must  determine  for  themselves  the 
position  of  St.  Kilda  Valley,  and  the  originals  of  the 
Eustace  family.  There  are  many  witnesses  to  attest  the 
fidelity  of  the  portraits,  and  that  nothing  has  been  set 
down  in  malice  will  be  patent  to  every  reader. 

With  these  explanations  the  work  is  committed  to  the 
judgment  of  those  willing  to  pause  amid  the  excitement 
and  passion  of  the  present  in  perusal  of  these  echoes  of 
the  dead  past.  In  the  consciousness  of  duty  discharged, 
the  author  trusts  he  is  neither  vain  nor  credulous  in 
bequeathing  this  book,  as  did  Lord  Bacon  his  memory, 
"  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  to  foreign  nations  and  the 
next  ages." 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS. 


Chapter    I.  St.  Kilda  Valley. 

"  II.  Ellesmere. 

"  III.  A  Day  in  the  Fields. 

"  IV.  Thorndale  Cottage. 

11  V.  St.  Kilda  Races. 

"  VI.  Fireside  Conversation. 

"  VII.  Gower  Hall. 

"  VIII.  Christmas. 

"  IX.  Rosamond's  Story. 

"  X.  Percival  St.  George. 

"  XI.  Mr.  Grey. 

"  XII.  Philip  at  College. 

"  XIII.  Philip  goes  out  into  the  world. 

"  XIV.  Grief  at  Ellesmere. 

"  XV.  Titus  Paine,  The  Outlaw. 

"  XVI.  Gov.  Eustace's  Valedictory. 

"  XVII.  Outward-Bound. 

"  XVIII.  New  Foes. 

"  XIX.  Halcyon  Days. 

"  XX.  Pallida  Mors. 

"  XXI.  Rosamond's  Sorrow. 

"  XXII.  A  New  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon. 

"  XXIII.  Light  in  the  Coliseum. 

"  XXIV.  Wedding  Bells. 


r 


THE  HEIRS  OF  ST.  KILDA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   VALLEY    OF    ST.    KILDA. 

"  It  was  a  mountain,  at  whose  verdant  feet 
A  spacious  plain,  outstretched  in  circuit  wide, 
Lay  pleasant;  from  his  side  two  rivers  flowed, 
The  one  winding,  the  other  straight,  and  left  between 
Fair  champaign,  with  less  rivers  intervein'd, 
Then,  meeting,  join'd  their  tribute  to  the  sea; 
Fertile  of  corn  the  glebe,  of  oil,  and  wine; 
With  herds  the  pasture  throng'd,  with  flocks  the  hills." 

Paradise  Regained. 

The  year  of  our  Lord,  1845,  approached  its  close.  The 
sun  at  midday  yet  retained  much  of  Summer's  warmth; 
but  as  the  shadows  from  the  court  house  and  church 
spires  stretched  to  the  east,  the  coolness  of  early  autumn 
became  perceptible.  The  village  of  St.  Kilda  was  half- 
hidden  among  its  embowering  trees,  for  the  oaks  in  the 
public  square,  and  the  over-arching  elms  of  the  street?, 
being  un visited  by  the  frost,  still  held  aloft  the  green 
mantle  they  had  assumed  in  the  Spring.  The  white 
houses  peering  from  masses  of  shade  made  the  village 
half-rural  in  appearance,  and  with  the  two  rivers  which 
there  joined  their  waters,  added  to  the  surrounding 
mountains,  composed  one  of  the  loveliest  scenes  of  all  the 
Southern  country.  It  gave  name  to  the  fine  valley  in 
which  it  was  situated,  and  was  the  largest  town  in  that 


12  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

portion  of  the  State.  From  the  number  and  earnestness 
of  the  groups  on  the  side-walks  it  was  evident  something 
unusual  was  under  consideration. 

The  great  occasion  of  this  and  each  succeeding  year 
was  now  close  at  hand,  and  not  only  the  villagers,  but  the 
inhabitants  of  all  the  surrounding  valley,  were  alive  to 
its  importance.  It  lacked  but  a  few  days  to  the  races, 
and  this  season  was  to  St.  Kilda  what  the  Carnival  is  to 
Rome  and  Derby-day  to  Epsom.  It  was  a  greater  holi- 
day than  either  Christmas  or  the  fourth  of  July,  and  was 
eagerly  awaited  by  all  classes  of  the  community.  Wealthy 
planters  grew  restless  as  September  waned,  fearing  train- 
ers had  not  lavished  sufficient  care  on  their  blood-horses, 
and  smaller  farmers  made  it  the  occasion  for  disposing  of 
their  surplus  live  stock.  The  good  women  of  the  country- 
side, by  immemorial  custom,  then  received  higher  prices 
for  poultry  and  butter,  and  the  youths  of  both  sexes  were 
gladdened  at  the  approach  of  a  season  long  sacred  to 
festivity  and  mirth. 

A  turnpike  led  from  the  village  northward,  and  along 
this  road,  in  the  light  of  the  declining  sun,  passed  three 
horsemen.  They  had  just  left  St.  Kilda,  and  evidently 
belonged  to  that  class  most  deeply  interested  in  the 
coming  races.  He,  on  the  right,  with  the  dark  brown 
hair,  is  Percival  St.  George,  who  has  for  three  successive 
seasons  borne  off  the  palm  of  victory  in  the  exciting  con- 
tests. He  rides  a  few  paces  to  the  rear  and  has  but  little 
to  say.  Although  now  nearly  forty  years  of  age,  he  is 
still  possessed  of  that  fine  combination  of  form  and  feature 
which  rendered  him  so  attractive  in  his  light-hearted 
youth  to  the  women  of  two  continents.  There  is  a  look 
of  weariness  in  his  eyes,  but  a  moustache  conceals  the 


The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda.  13 

expression  of  his  mouth.  The  calm  elegance  of  his  whole 
figure  is  eloquent  of  proud  descent.  He  is  slightly  above 
the  usual  height,  and  has  the  histo^  of  some  great  sorrow 
plainly  written  in  the  lines  of  his  face.  Next  to  him 
rides  his  cousin  Philip  Eustace,  who  will  be  seventeen 
years  old  when  he  reaches  his  next  birth-day.  He  is  a 
fine,  well-grown  youth,  and  sits  on  his  black  stallion  as 
if  thoroughly  at  home.  There  is  a  strong  family  likeness 
between  himself  and  St.  George.  They  have  the  same 
complexion  and  dark  eyes,  and  their  close-cut  hair 
exhibits  a  striking  similarity  of  contour.  Arthur  Kean 
rides  on  the  left,  having  arrived  by  the  stage  this  very 
day,  and  is  now  going  out  to  his  new  home.  He  has  come 
to  be  the  tutor  of  Philip  Eustace,  who  is  apparently  old 
enough  to  be  at  college.  Kean  is  of  medium  size,  and 
with  his  black  eyes  and  swarthy  complexion  has  the 
appearance  of  a  Spaniard. 

"Cousin  Percy,"  said  Philip,  "I  saw  Mr.  Compton's 
new  horse,  Pepin,  in  town  to-day.  He  is  very  handsome, 
but  I  should  think  his  stride  too  short  to  compete  with 
Hildebrand  and  Tempest.  Do  you  expect  to  be  beaten 
this  time?" 

"  No,"  said  St.  George,  "  I  have  no  idea  of  Pepin's  being 
able  to  out-foot  either  of  our  horses  in  a  close  brush, 
whatever  he  may  be  able  to  accomplish  by  mere  bottom. 
Then,  too,  Hildebrand  and  Tempest  are  possessed  of 
admirable  endurance,  and  I  am  content  to  leave  the 
decision  of  the  question  to  them.  Pepin,  as  a  three-year- 
old,  won  the  Shirley  stakes  in  England  last  season,  and 
Mr.  Compton  has  paid  an  extravagant  price  for  him, 
hoping  to  avenge  himself  of  the  defeats  sustained  more 
than  once  by  my  horses." 


14  The  Heirs  of  St.  Rilda. 

"  Frederick  Compton  told  ine,"  said  Philip,  "that  Pepin 
is  more  than  half  Arabian  in  his  blood." 

"  He  is  much  like  his  sire  in  shortness  of  limb  and 
muscular  development  of  the  fore-arm,"  said  St.  George. 
"  I  am  glad  he  has  been  brought  over,  for  he  is  the  only 
importation  to  the  valley  in  the  last  fifteen  years;  and  I 
am  not  wanting  in  admiration  of  English  horses." 

"  If  it  be  true,  said  Kean,  "  that  Pepin  was  well  backed 
for  the  Goodwood  Cup  this  year,  it  proves  that  among 
competent  judges  he  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  best 
English  horses,  and  that  is  saying  very  much  for  him. 
I  have  seen  most  of  the  European  studs,  and  my  deliberate 
opinion  is  that  the  English  thoroughbred  is  the  sum  and 
result  of  the  different  excellencies  of  all  the  breeds.  So, 
Mr.  St.  George,  you  must  look  well  to  it  in  this  new 
contest;  your  horse  will  have  to  do  all  in  his  power  to 
maintain  his  ascendency  against  this  new  competitor." 

"  No  one,"  said  Percival,  "  could  submit  to  defeat  more 
cheerfully  than  myself.  I  consider  racing  an  encourage- 
ment to  improvement  in  horses,  and  only  desirable  to 
that  end." 

The  party,  by  this  time,  had  come  some  distance  from 
St.  Kilda.  The  turnpike,  for  the  last  half  mile,  had  been 
gradually  ascending  the  face  of  a  hill,  upon  which  was 
the  residence  of  Judge  Eustace,  the  grandfather  of  young 
Philip  and  the  brother  of  St.  George's  mother.  About 
half  way  up  the  hill,  the  party  dismounted  to  drink  of 
the  sparkling  water  issuing  from  a  spring  on  the  side  of 
the  road.  The  horsemen  turned  to  gaze  on  the  noble 
scene;  for  all  the  central  and  southern  portions  of  the 
valley  were  before  them.  The  larger  of  the  two  rivers 
was  its  eastern  boundary,  the  course  of  the  stream  being 


The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda.  15 

nearly  north  and  south.  Twenty  miles  below,  the  moun- 
tain chain,  in  primeval  days,  had  been  sundered  by  the 
waters,  and  now  on  both  sides  great  cliffs  frowned  across 
the  intervening  space.  Hawkshead  is  the  last  of  a  long 
continuation  of  peaks  sweeping  in  a  curve  around  three 
sides  of  St.  Kilda  valley.  They  again  approach  the  river 
at  Satan's  Nose,  and  it  is  twenty-five  miles  from  Hawks- 
head  to  that  point,  while  the  greatest  breadth,  from  the 
river  to  the  place  where  the  mountains  receded  farthest, 
was  fifteen. 

The  sun  had  shone  brightly  until  the  last  half  hour  of 
his  stay  in  the  heavens.  Since  that  time  masses  of  cloud 
had  been  drifting  from  behind  the  mighty  barriers,  and 
there  was  a  magical  transformation  of  the  scene.  A 
wondrous  mixture  of  lights  and  shades  stretched  them- 
selves across  the  gentle  undulations  of  the  valley,  and 
just  above  the  mountain  tops  shone  the  glory  of  the  set- 
ting sun.  The  distant  peaks  were  almost  as  soft  as  the 
clouds,  in  their  tints  of  violet  and  blue,  while  those  nearer 
were  dark  with  sombre  forest  far  up  their  craggy  sides. 
St.  Kilda,  with  her  spires  and  white  walls,  gleamed  from 
the  centre  of  the  picture,  while  from  many  spots  could  be 
seen  the  curling  smoke  of  half-hidden  cottages,  with  the 
occasional  gleam  of  the  battlements  of  prouder  mansions. 
A  few  glimpses  of  the  smaller  river  could  be  descried  as 
it  wound  its  way  through  the  scene.  Philip  had  called 
the  attention  of  Kean  from  his  inspection  of  the  arrange- 
ments around  the  spring,  and  he  gazed  in  astonishment 
at  the  change  which  had  been  wrought  in  the  landscape 
below. 

"It  is  strange,"  said  St.  George,  "  that  I  should  never 
have  seen  St.  Kilda  Valley  so  beautiful  before.     It  really 


16  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

seems  to  me  that  everything  is  transfigured,  in  this  even- 
ings glory." 

"  It  is  surpassingly  grand,"  said  Kean.  "  Do  you  often 
observe  such  rapid  changes  in  the  appearance  of  things 
here  at  sunset?" 

"  Yes,"  said  St.  George,  "  but  not  like  this." 

"  If  Mariana  could  only  see  the  valley  now,"  said 
Philip.  "  I  never  realized  before  what  a  privilege  it  is  to 
see." 

From  behind  the  eastern  hills,  stole  up  the  full-orbed 
moon,  completing  the  loveliness  of  the  picture.  It 
reminded  Percival  St.  George,  who  was  himself  a  poet,  of 
Tennyson's  description  of  the  haunts  of  the  Lotos-Eaters  : 

In  the  afternoon  they  came  into  a  land, 

In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 

All  round  the  coast  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 

Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 

Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon. 

The  horsemen  now  mounted  and  passed  along  the 
turnpike,  until  they  reached  the  gate  through  the  stone 
walls  encompassing  the  park,  in  which  the  Ellesmere 
mansion  stood.  A  broad  carriage-way  led  to  the  house ; 
and  when  the  party  arrived  in  front  of  its  hospitable  portal, 
there  was  just  sufficient  light  for  Kean  to  see  a  large, 
irregular  pile,  which  had  been  added  to  at  different  eras. 

After  supper  the  family  were  gathered  in  the  library, 
and  Arthur  Kean  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  those 
among  whom  he  expected  to  spend  at  least  one  year  of 
his  life.  Judge  Eustace  was  a  man  of  noble  presence, 
and  from  his  snowy  locks  the  tutor  saw  he  was  verging 
on  three-score  and  ten,  fixed  by  the  royal  psalmist  as 
the  limit  of  hale  and  vigorous  old  age.     He  had  long 


The  Valley  of  St  Kilda.  17 

been  regarded,  by  those  who  knew  him  best,  as  a  great 
and  good  man.  Most  of  his  life  had  been  devoted  to  the 
service  of  his  native  State,  and  for  two  terms  he  had 
filled  the  place  of  United  States  Senator.  His  taste  had 
led  him  to  prefer  the  honors  of  his  profession  to  mere 
political  success,  and  he  had  retired  from  the  Senate  to 
assume  the  highest  judicial  honors  of  the  commonwealth. 
He  had  been,  until  the  last  five  years,  the  chief  justice  of 
the  supreme  court,  and  had  then  withdrawn  from  all 
public  station,  to  seek  the  retirement  and  self-examina- 
tion so  important  to  men  of  his  age.  This  Philip  Eustace 
had  been  the  pride  and  ornament  of  a  bar  numbering 
many  illustrious  names  in  its  catalogue ;  and,  to  the  most 
inattentive  observer,  it  was  plain  that  his  polished  and 
austere  intelligence  had  lost  but  little  of  its  earlier  vigor. 
Mrs.  Eustace,  who  had  been  the  companion  of  her 
husband  for  so  long  a  time,  was  a  belle  and  a  beauty, 
in  her  radiant  youth,  and  the  long  years  which  sep- 
arated the  present  from  that  time  had  fallen  so  gently 
upon  her  that  she  preserved  much  of  her  original 
vivacity.  In  her  ceaseless  cheerfulness  she  exhibited  no 
trace  of  querulous  old  age,  and  even  the  tones  of  her 
voice  yet  retained  the  melody  which  had  in  the  past 
charmed  the  hearts  of  so  many  men,  since  grown  famous 
in  the  land.  Miss  Esther  Stanhope  was  the  elder  of  two 
daughters,  and  when  the  good  Bishop,  her  father,  gave 
her  in  marriage  to  the  rising  young  lawyer,  it  was  with 
many  misgivings  lest  her  gaiety  should  not  be  appre- 
ciated by  the  colder  nature  of  her  lord.  These  fore- 
bodings were  all  happily  unfulfilled  in  the  issue,  for 
their  wedded  lives  had  been  one  long  experience  of 
unbroken  happiness.  In  the  very  diversity  of  tempera- 
2 


18  The  Heirs  of  St,  Kildd. 

ments  lay  the  secret  of  their  perfect  concord :  she  loved 
her  husband  for  his  nobility  and  unyielding  integrit}*- ; 
and  the  strong  man  lost  his  cares,  and  half  forgot  his 
ambition,  in  the  sweet  presence  of  his  wife. 

Mariana  Eustace,  the  sister  of  Philip,  was  almost 
angelic  in  the  purity  and  softness  of  her  beauty.  A 
strange  blindness  had  come  to  her  dark  brown  eyes,  but 
there  was  no  trace  of  sorrow  or  repining  in  her  faultless 
lineaments.  She  was  two  years  younger  than  her  brother, 
they  being  the  only  children  of  Philip  Ashton  Eustace, 
then  Governor  of  the  State. 

The  room  in  which  the  family  and  their  visitors  were 
gathered  was  the  favorite  spot  in  all  the  house.  It  had, 
a  century  before,  been  used  as  a  chapel  by  the  family,  and 
here  still,  at  morning  and  evening,  the  prayers  were  said. 
The  brilliant  light  in  the  centre  of  the  room  brought  out 
every  object  into  distinctness,  and  revealed  a  picture  of 
elegant  home  life  in  the  Southern  country. 

At  the  east  end  of  the  library  sat  Mrs.  Eustace  talking 
with  Mr.  Mason  Somerville,  who  was  on  a  visit  with  his 
daughter,  Ida,  to  the  family  at  Ellesmere.  He  lived  at 
St.  Kilda,  and  was  then  the  leading  counsel  in  that  por- 
tion of  the  State.  He  had  been  the  law-partner  of  Gov, 
Eustace  until  that  gentleman  gave  up  the  practice  for 
the  larger  excitement  of  a  seat  in  the  national  House  of 
Representatives.  Over  on  their  right  sat  Philip,  Ida 
Somerville  and  Mariana. 

A  little  further  on  was  Percival  St.  George,  Reginald 
Vane  and  Helen  Temple.  Vane  was  a  cousin  of  the 
Eustaces,  and  remarkable  for  his  good  humor  and  devotion 
to  country  sports.  Miss  Temple,  the  niece  of  Mrs.  Eustace, 
who  sat  by  his  side,  was  the  opposite  of  Mariana  in  her 


The  Valley  of  St.  RiUa.  19 

lyp'e  of  beauty,  and  her  black  eyes  and  tresses  had  been 
&  thousand  times  toasted  in  St.  Kilda  Valley.  He  was 
much  of  his  time  at  Ellesmere,  and  devoted  to  the  regal 
looking  brunette  at  his  side.  The  flying  feet  of  his  horse 
could  be  heard  speeding  away  across  the  sleeping  valley — - 
mingling  thoughts  of  his  lady-love  with  plans  boding 
much  interruption  to  any  fox  within  miles  of  Gilnockie, 
where  the  lone  bachelor  lived  and  hunted. 

Judge  Eustace  and  Arthur  Kean  are  under  the  chan- 
■delier,  and  the  large  room  is  full  of  pleasant  voices  until 
Mr.  Somerville  carries  off  every  one  but  these  two  to  the 
adjoining  room  for  music  on  the  piano.  The  two  men, 
as  they  sit  together,  present  many  strong  contrasts.  The 
elder's  locks  are  whitened  by  the  snows  of  many  winters  ; 
the  other  with  jetty  hair  is  just  entered  upon  manhood, 
and  yet  there  is  much  in  the  past  to  connect  the  two. 
The  young  man  who  has  just  come  thousands  of  miles 
•finds  warm  welcome  at  Ellesmere.  Judge  Eustace  had 
been  for  years  previous  to  the  death  of  Talbot  Kean,  the 
father  of  Arthur,  the  great  friend  and  paragon  of  that 
distinguished  man,  and  had  ever  manifested  peculiar 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  son.  Though  living  in  a 
different  State,  the  Chief  Justice,  when  informed  of  his 
friend's  dying  condition,  had  gone  to  his  bedside  and 
remained  until  death  had  closed  the  sad  scene.  Nor  had 
his  good  offices  stopped  there.  By  diligent  search  into 
the  affairs  of  his  dead  friend,  the  estate  which  had  been 
considered  hopelessly  entangled  was  so  arranged  that  a 
decent  competence  had  been  preserved  for  young  Arthur, 
who  was  thus  enabled  to  continue  his  stay  in  Germany, 
where  he  was  prosecuting  his  education  at  the  time  of 
kis  father's  death. 


20  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

These  considerations  had  induced  Kean  to  accept  of 
Judge  Eustace's  invitation  to  make  Ellesrnere  his  home, 
for  at  least  a  year,  where  he  could  pursue  his  study  of 
the  law  and  act  as  the  tutor  of  young  Philip. 

"  Twelve  years  ago,  Arthur,"  said  Judge  Eustace, 
"Percy  and  I  met  you  with  your  father  in  London. 
Have  you  forgotten  our  night  at  Covent  Garden  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  sir,"  said  Kean,  "  I  was  in  my  fifteenth 
year  then,  and  you  thereby  estimate  my  thorough  infatua- 
tion with  the  splendors  Edmund  Kean  was  lavishing 
upon  his  audiences.  I  have  never  seen  Shakespeare's 
masterpieces  presented  in  such  a  manner  since." 

"  I  suppose  you  had  the  full  benefit  of  the  opera,  while 
your  father's  mission  at  Naples  lasted,  for  I  believe  there 
was  the  birth-place  of  this  modern  amusement?" 

"As  much  as  it  can  really  be  enjoyed.  I  was  allowed 
to  go  once  or  twice  every  week,  and  thus  never  grew 
sated." 

"I,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "should  have  soon  reached 
that  conclusion,  for  though  I  can  applaud  the  main  idea 
involved  in  the  opera,  and  am  willing  to  admit  that  as 
every  thought  proper  to  the  drama  may  have  its  corres- 
ponding emotion,  and,  as  a  consequence,  the  possibility 
of  expression  in  music,  still  I  have  never  been  able  to 
bring  myself  to  enjoy  more  than  the  detached  beauties  of 
a  song  now  and  then,  even  in  the  greatest  of  these  musical 
plays.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  even  a  second  rate  play 
enchains  me  for  hours." 

"  I  cannot  say  for  the  life  of  me,"  said  Kean,  "  to  which 
branch  of  the  art  my  preference  lies.  I  fear  I  am  foolishly 
fond  of  both.     I  shall  never  forget  Mr  St.  George's  visit 


The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda.  21 

to  Naples.  He  frequently  carried  ine  with  him  when  my 
father  was  detained  at  the  legation." 

"  Poor  Percy,"  said  the  Judge  with  a  sigh."  It  had 
been  infinitely  better  for  him  never  to  have  seen  an  opera. 
His  happiness  in  Naples  was  sadly  counterbalanced  by 
his  subsequent  misfortune.  My  father's  distress  was 
unspeakable,"  said  Kean,  "  when  we  found  him  so  ill  in 
Venice.  We  had  gone  there  to  attend  his  marriage,  but 
the  beautiful  being  that  was  to  have  been  his  bride  had 
been  three  days  dead,  and  he  in  such  a  state  that  every 
one  expected  him  to  follow  her  most  speedily." 

"Arthur  Kean,"  said  the  Judge,  "I  am  no  fatalist,  but 
there  seems  some  dreadful  curse  hanging  over  our  house 
for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century.  My  own  wedded  life, 
thank  God,  has  been  thrice  blessed,  but  my  dearest 
friends  have  been  singularly  unfortunate.  My  oldest  son 
lost  his  lovely  young  wife  soon  after  his  marriage.  Mrs. 
Courtenay  was  a  widow  in  less  than  a  year  from  her 
bridals.  Percy  did  not  even  become  a  bride-groom  before 
he  was  a  widower,  and  Stanhope,  though  I  have  frequently 
urged  him  to  leave  the  army  and  marry,  yet  broods  over 
a  jilting  at  the  hands  of  a  heartless  coquette  he  has  not 
seen  in  ten  years.  My  dear  sir,  you  can  now  appreciate 
my  anxiety  as  to  training  Philip.  I  wish  to  arm  him 
against  these  morbid  tendencies  which  are  threatening 
to  extinguish  the  name  of  Eustace  in  the  St.  Kilda 
Valley. 

"  I  pray  God,"  said  Kean,  "  that  such  a  disaster  may 
never  come.  I  have  been  struck  with  Philip's  freedom 
from  such  tendencies,  and  I  shall  bear  in  mind  your  sug- 
gestions. I  have  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful 
than  his  tender  consideration  for  his  sister,  and  I  think 


22  The  Heirs-  of  St.  Kitdct. 

it  grows  out  of  that  very  manliness  which  is  the  noblest 
attribute  of  our  sex." 

"  Even  so/'  said  the  Judge.  "  Mariana  has  been  so* 
dependent  upon  him  in  her  blindness  that  I  have  long 
dreaded  the  day  of  their  separation.  But  it  is  getting 
high  time  he  was  learning  what  life  is.  I  would  rear 
every  girl  delicately  at  her  own  fireside,  but  nothing  is* 
more  conducive  to  healthy  sentiment  in  a  young  man 
than  large  communion  with  those  of  his  own  age.  It 
prepares  him  for  the  rough  jostling  he  may  inevitably 
expect  in  after  life.  There  is  no  golden  road  to  learning,, 
and  position  is  never  achieved  without  a  multitude  of 
rivals  seeking  to  make  themselves  lions  in  the  pathway 
to  success." 

"  I  cordially  agree  with  you,,  sir,"  said  Kean,  "  and  for 
myself  I  have  ever  found  that  my  energies  rose  with  the 
consciousness  of  conflict.  I  look  forward  to  my  life  at 
the  bar  with  pleasure,  as  it  holds  out  larger  promise  of 
frequent  friendly  struggle.  But  I  must  say  that  I 
unfeignedly  distrust  my  ability  to  supply  Mr.  Grey's 
place  in  regard  to  Philip.  I  kuow  him  to  be  a  most 
finished  scholar,  and  then  his  manner  is  so  winning  with 
everybody,  and  especially  the  young,  that  I  am  really 
fearful  you  have  made  a  mistake  in  making  me  hi& 
successor." 

"  It  was  his  own  proposition,"  said  the  Judge;  "your 
advantages  are  that  you  know  German  and  the  new- 
advances  in  the  style  of  teaching  adopted  in  that  really 
wonderful  country." 

"I  am  free  to  say  I  could  not  have  undertaken  the- 
position,  however  pleasant,  had  I  not  understood  that. 
Mr.  Grey  wrote  even  before  you  mentioned  the  subject  in 


The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda.  23 

your  letters,  and  urged  me  to  come.  I  met  him  for  the 
first  time  when  you  and  he  came  over  to  see  Mr.  St. 
George  at  Rome,  and  I  think  him  as  near  the  realization 
of  Sir  Galahad  as  modern  times  could,  under  any  circum- 
stances, produce. 

"  There  you  have  struck  it,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  and 
he  repeated : — 

"  A  maiden  knight  to  me  is  given, 
Such  hope  I  know  not  fear, 
I  yearn  to  hreathe  the  airs  of  heaven, 
That  often  meet  me  here." 

"I  declare,"  continued  the  Judge,  "that  man  is  a  con- 
tinual rebuke  to  me.  I  took  him  a  little  child  from  his 
desolated  home,  and  he  has  ever  treated  me  as  his  father, 
but  so  awful  is  unalloyed  goodness  and  truth,  that  I  am 
continually  reminded  by  William  Grey  of  what  I  lack  in 
my  duty  to  God  and  man.  With  the  most  unaffected 
and  childlike  simplicity  he  still  excites  more  reverence 
in  my  heart  than  any  man  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  long 
experience.  He  and  Mariana  are  the  only  persons  I 
have  known  of  whom  it  may  be  said  that  while  in  the 
world  they  are  not  of  it.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  years 
ago,  like  Charles  V.,  I  thought  I  had  left  the  world  and 
its  vanities,  when  I  withdrew  from  all  public  station ;  but 
often  still  the  ghosts  of  my  former  ambitions  steal  upon 
me,  and,  like  Banquo's  shade,  they  will  not  down  at  my 
bidding.  I  humbly  hope  I  shall  be  forgiven  all  my  fail- 
ings here,  but  I  have  no  hope  of  ever  being  in  this  world 
half  as  good  as  this  '  Samaritan  in  whom  there  is  no 
guile.'  But  then  I  do  not  wish  Philip  to  be  such  a  man 
as  Mr.  Grey.  I  would  not  for  my  right  hand  have  him 
fail  in  all  reverence  and  duty  to  God,  but  his  way  in  life 


24  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

will  be  so  different  that  such  an  example,  however 
beautiful  in  itself,  could  not  realize  my  hopes.  We  owe 
something  to  our  families  and  the  commonwealth,  and  I 
would  not  be  gratified  if  I  thought  Philip  liable  to  any 
such  freaks  as  converted  Francis  Xavier  into  a  missionary, 
however  I  may  admire  the  unselfishness  of  such  a  man- 
William  Grey  has  not  sought  to  instill  any  such  tendencies, 
and  I  know  he  has  labored  to  impress  Philip  with  the 
importance  of  secular  as  well  as  christian  duties,  and  I 
had  no  fear  on  that  head.  But  I  am  detaining  you  from 
the  young  people.  Suppose  you  go  to  the  drawing  rooms 
and  join  them  in  their  music.  I  will  sit  here  and  enjoy 
a  smoke  in  this  beautiful  meerschaum  you  have  been  so 
kind  as  to  bring  to  me  from  its  home  in  the  Fatherland." 

Kean  went  in  the  direction  of  the  music  and  found  the 
parties  in  one  of  a  suit  of  elegant  drawing  rooms.  He 
took  his  seat  by  Miss  Somerville,  and  when  Mariana  and 
St.  George  had  finished  their  duet — "  Home  to  our  moun- 
tains " — Ida  remarked  : 

"  Do  you  think  the  angels  can  be  more  beautiful  than 
Mariana  ?" 

"  They  must  then  greatly  exceed  the  limits  of  my 
imagination,"  said  Kean.  "She  surpasses  my  ideas  of 
mere  beaut}'',  and  her  picture  in  Italy  would  be  worshipped 
as  a  Madonna  surpassing  the  dreams  of  the  masters." 

"I  fear,  Mr.  Kean,"  said  Ida,  "after  your  long  stay  in 
Europe,  you  will  find  our  village  life  very  tame  in 
comparison." 

"  I  expect  not,  Miss  Somerville.  The  Valley  of  St. 
Kilda  is  beautiful  in  itself,  and  it  has  long  been  renowned 
for  its  society." 

"  We  are  very  grateful   for  your  good  opinion,  Mr. 


The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda.  25 

Kean,  and  next  week  you  will   see   everybody  in   our 
limits  at  the  races." 

Mr.  Somerville  here  joined  the  group,  remarking  : 

"I  am  delighted,  Mr.  Kean,  to  hear  from  Judge  Eustace 
that  you  contemplate  making  the  Valley  your  permanent 
home." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Kean,  "  the  world  was  ail  before 
me  where  to  choose,  and  here  have  I  elected  to  stay." 

For  some  time  the  music  and  conversation  went  on  in 
the  drawing  rooms.  It  was  getting  toward  midnight,  and 
Reginald  Vane  and  Helen  Temple  found  occasion  to  go 
back  to  the  library  to  exchange  those  nameless  heart- 
communings  that  lovers,  on  the  eve  of  parting,  alwaj'S 
find  so  sweet  and  unavoidable.  The  cavalier  said  he 
must  get  back  to  Gilnockie,  and  be  ready  for  disturbing 
the  morning  echoes  with  hound  and  horn.  They  were 
all  the  world  to  each  other,  as  they  sat  in  the  shadow  of 
the  embayed  window.  Judge  Eustace  was  reading,  mus- 
ing and  smoking.  The  company  had  all  reassembled  in 
the  library,  but  the  Judge  seemed  absorbed  in  his  book 
and  meerschaum  until  Mr.  Somerville  approached  and 
remarked : 

"Ah,  Mr.  Chief  Justice,  how  cau  you  find  in  that  pipe 
and  Blackwood  amusement  to  be  compared  to  that  we 
have  been  enjoying  at  the  hands  of  our  friends  in  the 
drawing  room  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  Judge,  "we  are  told  in  holy  writ 
that  one  of  the  guests  who  failed  to  attend  the  great  feast 
gave  as  an  excuse  that  he  had  married  a  wife,  and  could 
not  attend.  Mr.  Kean  thought  enough  of  me,  while  four 
thousand  miles  away,  to  buy  me  the  pipe  you  see  me 


26  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

trying  for  the  first  time  to-night.  So  I  hope,  sir,  the 
musicians  will  hold  me  excused." 

"  Ladies,"  said  Mr.  Somerville,  "as  the  Judge  pleads 
guilty,  and  the  pipe  is  really  so  pretty,  you  must  excuse 
him." 

"Certainly  we  will,"  said  Mrs.  Eustace,  "but  see  His 
Honor  not  only  smokes  his  pipe,  but  really  it  is  quite  a 
coincidence  that  this  number  of  Blackwood's  magazine, 
which  came  to-night,  is  what  he  has  been  reading,  and 
here  are  his  annotations  on  this  very  subject  of  smoking." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Judge,  "  and  a  clever  article  it  is.  The 
author  sets  out  witli  remarks  upon  the  growth  of  the 
revenues  of  several  European  States  from  tobacco,  and 
after  a  good  deal  of  statistics,  he  goes  into  the  aesthetics 
of  his  subject." 

"Well,  I  love  my  pipe  myself,"  said  Mr.  Somerville, 
"but  my  wife  thinks  I  will  kill  myself  at  it,  so  I  would 
like  to  be  fortified  on  my  return  tomorrow  with  some 
new  reasons  why  it  is  my  duty  to  smoke." 

"  There  is  much- humbug  among  the  doctors  on  that 
subject,"  said  the  Judge,  "and  many  reformers  and  crazy 
optimists  are  denouncing  this  use  of  the  Virginia  weed, 
asserting  that  it  is  a  useless  extravagance,  in  which  poor 
men  waste  mone}''  which  ought  to  go  toward  the  support 
of  their  families.  Mr.  Somerville,  think  you  the  practice 
has  brought  with  it  any  positive  benefit  to  mankind  at 
large?" 

"  I  think  so,"  said  he,  "  for  there  seems  to  be  a  craving 
among  men  for  some  such  stimulus,  and  I  hold  that  the 
love  of  their  pipes  has  kept  many  a  man  from  frequent- 
ing tippling-houses." 

"  More  than  that,"  said  Judge  Eustace;  "  when  he  has 


The  Vdley  of  St.  Kilda.  27 

gone  home  at  night,  soured  with  the  griefs  and  disap- 
pointments which  await  us  all,  the  brooding  mind  of  the 
laborer  lias  been  lightened  of  its  cares,  and  the  toiling 
wife  spared  harsh  words  which  would  have  been  spoken, 
had  he  not  sat  down  to  his  pipe  and  wiser  thoughts.  I 
agree  with  James  Hammond  : 

"  Happiest  he  of  happy  mtn ; 
Who  when  again  the  night  returns, 
When  again  the  taper  burns, 
Can  afford  his  tube  to  feed 
With  the  fragrant  Indian  weed; 
Pleasure  for  a  nose  divine, 
Incense  of  the  god  of  wine." 

"  I  have  noticed  this  pleasant  effect/'  said  Kean,  "  and 
I  think  it  a  great  pity  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  had  not  intro- 
duced it  a  century  earlier  in  Europe.  Martin  Luther 
wrould  have  doubtless  been  a  smoker  and  thereby  less 
acrimonious  in  debate  ;  perhaps  a  pipe  might  have  saved 
from  the  executioner's  axe  the  fair  neck  of  Anne  Boleyn." 

"  I  am  clearly  of  the  opinion,"  said  Judge  Eustace, 
"  that  the  griefs  of  the  world  have  been  diminished,  and 
the  sum  of  human  enjoyment  largely  increased  by  the 
tobacco  which  has  been  burned  in  the  pipes  of  the  last 
three  centuries.  If  King  James  could  arise  from  his 
grave  and  see  the  innumerable  smokers  of  our  day,  he 
would  think  his  Counter-blast  was  written  to  very  little 
purpose." 

"  In  this  new  apotheosis  of  your  pipes,"  said  Miss 
Temple,  "  why  do  you  gentlemen  not  insist  upon  us  of 
the  weaker  sex  partaking  of  this  divine  afflatus  you 
derive  from  such  diminutive  shrines  ?" 

"  Many  of  you  do,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "  but  happy 
young  creatures  like  you,  Helen,  are  not  supposed  to  be 


28  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

amenable  to  the  usual  griefs  of  humanity,  and  therefore 
do  not  need  this  solace." 

"  Voltaire  tells  us,  in  his  Charles  XII,"  said  Mrs.  Eust- 
ace, "  that  the  Czar  Peter  had  created  an  uneasiness  in 
the  minds  of  his  subjects  by  the  innovations  he  was 
making  in  their  habits.  A  portion  of  them  were  discuss- 
ing the  ethics  of  this  very  habit  of  smoking  when  an  old 
Muscovite  Priest  opposed  it  on  the  ground  that  we  are 
assured  in  the  Scriptures  that  a  man  is  defiled  by  nothing 
which  enters  into  his  mouth,  but  that  which  proceedeth 
therefrom." 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Mariana,  "  I  think  that  smoking 
cannot  be  considered  a  necessity  of  our  lives ;  and  if  it  is 
only  a  pleasure, can  we  consistently  do  that  which  brings 
with  it  no  show  of  service  to  God  ?  Mr.  Grey  was  preach- 
ing, on  last  Sabbath,  to  us  on  that  subject,  and  I  have 
been  trying  to  think  how  smoking  can -be  reconciled  to 
his  views  of  our  duty." 

"  A  deep  question,  my  love,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "and 
we  should  ask  ourselves  many  such  along  life's  journey. 
It  never  occurred  to  me  before,  that  there  could  be  any 
question  of  morality  in  the  habit  we  have  been  discussing- 
The  essence  of  our  duty  in  matters  of  religion  consists  in 
love  and  fear  of  God,  and  avoidance  of  things  He  has 
forbidden.  A  large  portion  of  our  actions  is  necessarily 
indifferent  in  this  respect,  but  we  should  make  them  all 
tend  to  the  great  end  of  testifying  our  gratitude  for  bene- 
fits received.  I  cannot  think  it  wrong  to  smoke,  and  can 
feel  as  thankful  in  the  enjoyment  of  my  pipe  as  I  do  at 
the  dinner  table.  Jeremy  Bentham  holds  that  actions 
right  in  themselves  bring  no  injury  to  us  or  our  neigh- 
bors, while  bad  deeds  always  do.     I  find  that  my  pipe 


The   Valley  of  St.  Kilda.  29 

brings  me  gentler  feelings  toward  the  faults  I  see  in  others, 
It  opens  the  avenues  of  my  heart  to  charitable  sentiments, 
and  really  makes  me  a  man  of  larger  sympathies  and 
greater  patience  than  I  would  perhaps  be  without  its  aid. 
Mariana,  the  night  is  waxing  late  :  go  to  the  organ  and 
let  us  join  in  our  evening  devotions." 

Arthur  Kean  noticed,  as  he  went  to  his  room  after 
prayers,  an  unusual  loftiness  in  the  rooms  of  the  Elles- 
mere  mansion.  They  had  richly  wainscotted  walls  in 
the  style  of  the  last  century;  and  as  he  traversed  the 
long  passages,  he  observed  much  grotesque  carved  work 
in  the  old  building  which  had  been  considered  a  miracle 
of  workmanship  in  its  earlier  days.  These  relics  of  a 
fancy  once  so  exuberant  and  so  long  hidden  in  the  grave 
were  full  of  interest  to  the  young  stranger.  He  was 
charmed  when  he  reached  his  own  room;  for  its  elaborate 
ornamentation  repeated  many  of  the  odd  conceits  he  had 
noticed  in  the  corridors  and  the  great  testered  bedstead 
was  of  itself  a  curiosity.  Carving  had  here  gone  mad  in 
the  intricacy  of  its  designs.  The  posts  were  covered  with 
a  host  of  vines,  flowers  and  birds,  inextricably  intertwined. 
The  head-board,  with  its  finely-wrought  edgings,  con- 
tained in  its  center  a  bas-relief  representation  of  the  wed- 
ding of  Mary  of  Valois,  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  to  the 
Arch-Duke  Maximilian. 

This  was  one  of  Sir  Ellesmere  Eustace's  legacies  ;  and 
was  made  in  Nuremberg,  for  himself  and  his  intended  wife, 
before  their  marriage.  The  large  mantle-piece  was  of 
Egyptian  marble,  and  for  days  did  Kean  study  the  alle* 
gorical  mysteries  of  its  sculptures.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
he  looked  upon  these  things,  that  he  had  somehow  been 
transferred  to  a  former  age,  and  falling  asleep  dreamed  of 


/ 


30  The  Heirs  of  St.  ttildd. 

his  life  in  Germany,  where  he  had  been  so  happy  in  his 
youth. 

In  the  year  1715,  Sir  George  Eustace,  who  had  been 
one  of  the  most  tried  and  trusted  of  Marlborough's  veter- 
ans, came  to  live  in  this  same  Valley  of  St.  Kilda.  He 
had  followed  the  fortunes  of  John  Churchill  from  the 
commencement  of  his  service  under  Louis  XIV,  until 
the  long  career  of  victory  was  closed  in  disgrace,  by  the 
withdrawal  of  the  favor  of  the  new  sovereign  of  England, 
George  II.  Sir  George  was  wounded  at  Blenheim  and 
Ramilies,  and  led  his  squadrons  unharmed  through  the 
fiercely-contested  fields  of  Oudenarde  and  Malplaquet. 
He  had  grown  gray  in  battle  and  siege,  and  having  risen 
to  be  a  major-general  of  horse,  had  seen  the  great  proto- 
type and  friend  of  his  life  stricken  down  by  a  prince 
Who  was  a  foreigner,  and  regardless  of  all  the  mighty 
chief  had  done  for  England's  glory.  General  Eustace* 
like  many  others  of  that  day,  was  indignant  at  the  wrong 
done  his  commander,  and  threw  up  his  commission  in 
disgust. 

When  he  went  from  home  twenty  years  before,  he  was 
the  youngest  cadet  of  a  house  long  wealthy  and  illustri- 
ous, but  after  all,  offering  but  slender  promise  to  a  third 
son.  After  vears  of  absence,  both  of  the  brothers,  who 
stood  between  him  and  the  title,  had  died  and  he  became 
Sir  George  Eustace,  the  lord  of  many  broad  acres  and 
thrifty  tenants ;  but  the  charms  of  Bellona  were  too  strong 
in  his  heart  for  him  to  forego  the  glory  he  was  winning. 
So  he  had  seen  but  little  of  England,  and  his  rents  had 
accumalated,  until  he  had  so  much  money,  on  his  resig- 
nation, that  men  were  not  wanting  to  attribute  his  indig- 
nation at  the  treatment  of  Marlborough  to  other  reasons. 


The  Valley  of  St  Kilda.  31 

They  'Whispered  that  Sir  George  and  his  great  captain 
had  grown  rich  in  the  same  way,  and  that  a  rigid  scru- 
tiny of  his  conduct  would  show  unlawful  gains  from  the 
military  chest.  The  injustice  of  these  falsehoods  so  stung 
the  high  soul  of  the  man,  that  it  fixed  his  determination 
to  leave  a  country  which  exhibited  so  little  gratitude 
for  all  his  service  in  its  behalf.  He  had  married  the 
daughter  of  an  eminent  barrister;  and  making  known 
his  determination  to  leave  England  and  go  to  the 
colonies,  the  father-in-law  advised  him  to  purchase  St. 
Kilda  Valley. 

One  of  the  royal  favorites,  to  whom  it  had  been  granted 
by  the  king,  sold  the  whole  territory  included  between 
the  large  river  and  the  mountains  to  Sir  George.  His 
wealth  and  connections  enabled  him  to  secure  a  number 
of  emigrants  to  cross  the  seas  with  him,  and  two  gentle- 
men of  means,  Lytteltoii  Gower  and  Stanley  Newton, 
were  of  the  party.  They  first  came  to  the  place  where 
the  village  now  stands,  and  it  was  named  in  honor  of  the 
birth  place  of  Lady  Eustace's  mother,  who  was  born  near 
the  desolate  cliffs  of  St.  Kilda,  in  Scotland,  once  so  cele- 
brated as  the  scene  of  Lady  Grange's  captivity.  After 
the  arrival  of  the  proprietor  he  found  no  reason  to  repent 
of  his  emigration  ;  this  purchase,  for  a  wonder,  corres- 
ponding to  the  many  promised  advantages  for  which  it 
had  been  selected. 

Sir  George  parceled  out  the  lands  to  his  settlers,  reserve 
ing  for  himself  six  large  tracts,  since  known  as  Ellesmerej 
Grafton,  Ramilies,  Thorndale,  Blenheim,  and  Vaucluse. 
He  retained  his  vessel  in  which  he  had  crossed  the  ocean, 
and  by  this  means,  in  the  course  of  years,  he  imported 
from  Africa  enough  negroes  to  work  his  own  farms,  and 


82  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda, 

supply  the  wants  of  many  of  his  colonists.  He  died  after 
building  at  Ellesmere,  having  resided  there  twelve  years. 
He  had  previously  passed  four  years  in  the  house  now 
known  in  the  village  as  the  old  Eustace  tavern.  To  his 
widow  he  left  the  care  of  three  children  ;  the  elder  of 
these,  Sir  Ellesmere  Eustace,  inherited  three  of  the 
estates ;  Philip,  the  second  son,  two  of  them  ;  and  to  the 
daughter,  Mariana,  was  bequeathed  the  beautiful  Vaucluse 
place.  Lady  Eustace  returned  to  England  to  educate  her 
children,  when  her  eldest  son,  having  grown  up  and 
married,  she  and  Mariana  returned  with  the  young  couple 
to  America.  Philip  also  brought  over  a  bride ;  and  two 
years  later  his  wife's  brother,  Templeton  St.  George, 
having  come  on  a  visit,  wooed  and  won  the  fair  Mariana. 
Judge  Eustace  represented  the  Ellesmere  branch  of  the 
family,  and  Percival  St.  George  was  the  great  grandson 
of  the  first  Templeton,  while  Mrs.  Henrietta  Courtenay, 
mistress  of  Thorndale  and  Ramilies  was  the  descendant 
of  the  first  Philip  Eustace. 


Ellesmere.  33 


CHAPTER  II. 

i 

ELLESMERE. 

"  Befoke  the  mansion  lay  a  lucid  lake, 
Broad  as  transparent,  deep,  and  freshly  fed 
By  a  river,  which  its  softened  way  did  take 
In  currents  through  the  calmer  water  spread 
Around:  the  wild  fowl  nestled  in  the  brake 
And  sedges,  brooding  in  their  liquid  bed: 
The  woods  sloped  downward  to  its  brink,  and  stood 
With  their  green  faces  fixed  upon  the  flood." — Don  Juan. 

The  Ellesmere  estate  lay  almost  wholey  eastward  of 
the  turnpike,  stretching  with  its  broad  fields  and  green 
pastures  to  the  great  river  flowing  full  in  sight.  The 
park,  with  its  thousand  acres  of  untouched  oaks  was 
crescent-shaped  around  the  house,  leaving  the  eastern  side 
with  uninterrupted  views  across  the  fields.  This  park 
was  broken  in  its  profile  by  occasonal  rivulets,  thus 
diversifying  the  surface  of  a  plateau  generally  leveh 
That  portion  of  the  mansion  built  by  Sir  George  Eustace 
was  constructed  with  heavy  walls,  as  if  he  had  contem- 
plated the  possibility  of  its  being  sometimes  used  for 
defense.  This  wing  contained  the  western  drawing  rooms, 
the  dining  hall,  and  the  greater  portion  of  the  dormitories. 
The  eastern  wing,  as  has  been  already  stated,  was  later 
constructed  by  his  son.  The  conservatory  on  the  south, 
and  the  tower  on  the  northeastern  angle,  were  added  by 
the  present  proprietor.  He  had  also  bestowed  much  care 
on  the  front  lawn,  and  the  broad  belt  of  shrubbery  fol- 
lowing the  sweep  of  the  carriage  way  through  the  grounds. 
Above  the  walks,  over-arching  oaks  interlaced  their  limbs 
3 


34  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

and  foliage  like  some  lofty  cathedral  roof.  Half-concealed 
in  the  shade  of  surrounding  trees  was  a  brick  chapel  in 
the  midst  of  the  family  cemetery,  and  beneath  the  marble 
monuments,  gleaming  above  the  stone  walls,  slept  all  the 
Eustaces,  St.  Georges,  Courtenays,  and  Vanes,  who  had 
died  in  St.  Kilda  Valley  for  a  century  past. 

On  the  night  described  in  the  last  chapter,  young 
Philip  Eustace  had  gone  to  bed  with  his  soul  full  of 
emotions.  Since  his  earliest  recollection,  until  within 
the  last  few  weeks,  he  had  been  accustomed  to  the  care 
of  a  tutor,  who  had  been  reared  by  Judge  Eustace.  This 
man  had  been  preaching  to  the  negroes  at  Ellesmere  and 
Grafton,  while  he  was  teaching  Philip  and  Mariana,  but 
had  lately  become  convinced  that  he  should  devote  his 
entire  attention  to  the  duties  of  his  sacred  calling.  Philip 
well  knew  the  pleasure  Mr.  Grey  had  taken  in  instruct- 
ing him,  and  could  but  regret  the  necessity  of  another 
filling  his  place.  The  minister  now  spent  alternate 
weeks  on  the  two  estates ;  to  enable  him  to  do  this,  it  had 
been  necessary  to  resign  his  tutorship.  A  sermon  was 
preached  every  Sunday  to  the  assembled  negroes,  and  the 
devotion  of  the  earnest  man  had  affected  much  good 
among  them.  Few  of  the  delinquencies,  once  calling  for 
correction,  were  now  observable,  and  their  cleanliness 
and  good  behavior  were  the  theme  of  the  entire  valley. 
Much  of  this  was  doubtless  due  to  the  uniform  justice 
and  kindness  of  the  wise  master's  sway  ;  but  it  was  evident 
that  great  good  had  been  effected  by  Mr.  Grey,  and  he 
was  thus  making  their  further  instruction  the  chief  labor 
-of  his  life. 

This  good  Samaritan  was  often  grieved  at  the  existence 
t)f  the  statute  forbidding  the  teaching  of  slaves  to  read 


EUesmePe.  35 

and  write.  In  the  facts  which  led  to  its  enactment  he 
saw  much  excuse  for  such  legislation ;  but  was  of  the 
opinion  that  it  greatly  crippled  his  efforts  to  raise  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  his  charge  to  that  degree  of  intelli- 
gence necessary  to  a  proper 'understanding  of  their  relig- 
ious duties.  He  was  therefore  earnestly  desirous  that 
mere  expediency  should  not  perpetuate  a  law  in  direct 
conflict  with  a  special  injunction  of  the  Saviour  of  the 
world.  From  a  friend  of  such  large  and  delicate  sympa- 
thies, Philip  might  well  grieve  to  be  separated;  but  with 
hope  for  the  future  came  tranquil  sleep — the  most  unfail- 
ing and  blessed  guerdon  of  youthful  innocence. 

After  breakfast  Judge  Eustace  and  Arthur  Kean 
repaired  to  the  library  to  further  discuss  the  nature  of  the 
new  tutor's  duties.  Sir  Ellesmere  Eustace  had  made  this 
the  most  beautiful  and  attractive  room  in  the  house.  It 
was  cruciform  and  filled  with  books,  statuary  and  pic- 
tures. An  organ  of  considerable  size  and  exquisite  finish 
stood  in  one  of  the  recesses  of  the  cross,  and  opposite  to 
it  was  a  great  window  with  elaborate  mullions.  The 
room  depended  principally  on  its  sky-light  for  illumina- 
tion, and  as  Mr.  Kean  glanced  up  to  the  ceiling  his  eyes 
revelled  amid  the  delicate  tracery  of  foliage  and  flowers. 

"  You  will  find  Philip  a  boy  of  much  spirit,"  said 
Judge  Eustace,  "  but  of  equal  candor.  He  is  fearless  but 
tractable,  and  under  Mr.  Grey's  tuition  has  nearly  mas- 
tered the  course  of  study  pursued  at  our  State  University. 
I  should  have  sent  him  there  ere  this,  but  for  my  disap- 
probation of  sending  boys  too  young  to  college.  It 
exposes  them  to  temptations,  to  vice  and  idleness,  always 
abundantly  found  in  the  mixed  society  of  large  institu- 
tions of  learning.     Philip's  father^  Gov.  Eustace,  had  the 


36  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kildcz, 

misfortune  to  lose  his  wife,  and  since  that  time  has  suf- 
fered his  children  to  remain  at  Ellesmere.  I  have  sought 
to  educate  them  as  much  as  possible,  under  my  own  roof,, 
but  I  desire  Philip  to  join  the  next  senior  class,  spend 
one  year  at  the  University,  and  then  visit  Europe.  He 
has  been  studying  the  arts  under  a  French  teacher,  and 
I  intend  to  afford  him  all  the  advantages  within  my 
reach." 

"I  shall  be  most  happy,"  said  Mr.  Keau,  "to  do  all  in 
my  power  to  further  these  designs,  and  shall  be  amply 
repaid  in  your  promised  assistance  in  my  study  of  the 
law." 

Judge  Eustace  and  the  tutor  having  discussed  all  their 
arrangements,  the  ex  chief  justice  left  Ellesmere  on  a 
visit  to  his  son's  plantation  at  Blenheim. 

Arthur  Kean  was  the  son  of  a  gentleman  of  a  neighbor-- 
ing  State  who  had  made  reputation  as  a  politician  during 
Gen.  Jackson's  administration.  After  considerable  service- 
in  the  House  of  Representatives  he  had  gone  abroad  as 
a  foreign  minister.  He  did  not  possess  the  qualities 
which  usually  lead  to  success  in  pecuniary  matters ;  and 
Talbot  Kean,  after  living  for  thirty  years  in  wealth,  be- 
came suddenly  embarrassed.  Arthur  had  been  left  in 
Europe  by  his  father  to  finish  his  education,  and  had 
availed  himself  of  the  advantages  in  his  reach.  He  now 
sat  looking  at  the  beautiful  room,  and  congratulating 
himself  on  the  pleasant  home  he  had  found.  Over  the 
mantel  was  a  portrait  of  Lord  Ellesmere,  an  ancestor  of 
the  family,  from  whom  the  place  had  derived  its  name. 
Vandyke  had  not  nattered  the  great  equity-lawyer,  for  it 
is  said  the  people  of  London  flocked  to  Westminster,  to 
see  him  whenever  he  presided  as  Lord  Chancellor.     On 


EUesmere.  37 

each  side  were  portraits  of  two  Marianas  Eustace;  that, 
on  the  right,  the  daughter  of  old  Sir  George,  and  the 
other,  the  mother  of  Percival  St.  George.  The  young 
tutor  was  impressed  with  the  gravity  of  the  trust  he  had 
assumed;  for  to  his  care  was  committed  the  heir  of 
princely  wealth.  He  had  seen  enough  of  Philip  to  per- 
ceive that  he  had  the  talents  to  sustain  the  traditional 
influence  of  his  family.  How  all-important  was  it  then 
to  give  the  right  inclination  to  the  mind  of  him  whose 
disposition  and  habits  were  of  so  much  consequence  to 
•others. 

Kean  was  in  deep  thought  on  the  subject  of  his  duty 
in  this  matter  when  a  touching  vision  passed  before  his 
eyes.  Mariana  Eustace  came  in  silently,  following  the 
lead  of  a  negro  girl.  She  had  no  intimation  of  his 
presence,  and  at  once  took  her  seat  at  the  organ.  He 
•could  see  her  side-face  from  the  position  he  occupied,  and 
was  even  more  struck  with  her  loveliness  than  on  the 
evening  before.  The  dark  hazel  eyes  seemed  to  have  lost 
but  little  of  their  lustre  in  her  blindness,  and  serene 
repose  was  their  habitual  expression.  The  golden  tresses 
falling  in  waves  around  her  head,  in  the  illumination  of 
the  sky  light,  were  surrounded  by  a  faint  aureola.  She 
wras  a  study  from  whom  Guido  or  Titian  would  have 
created  a  madonna  to  steal  the  hearts  of  all  creeds.  As 
the  soft,  delicious  music  stole  from  her  touch  he  at  once 
saw  she  w7as  improvising,  for  the  transitions  were  fitful., 
and  the  use  of  the  stops  so  unusual  he  felt  confident  she 
was  making  the  instrument  the  expression  of  her  emo- 
tions. For  some  time  he  sat  looking  at  the  beautv  of  her 
face  spell-bound  in  what  seemed  to  him  some  mysterious 
inspiration.    At  times,;  when  the  solemn  wail  of  the  minor 


38  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

keys  fell  on  bis  ear,  he  noticed  that  the  sunny  head  drooped 
in  sympathy  with  the  music,  but  this  was  momentary; 
the  burthen  of  her  theme  was  triumphant  exultation, 
summoning  to  its  aid  the  trumpet,  hautbois,  and  flute 
stops  with  the  deepest  of  the  pedal  notes;  and  the  largo 
room  trembled  with  the  pomp  of  her  strains.  The  last 
note  of  the  grand  instrument  had  died  into  an  echo, 

Though  she  had  ceased,  her  countenance  uplifted 
To  heaven,  still  spake,  with  solemn  glory  bright. 


Mariana,  arose  and  without  aid  went  to  the  door  by 
which  she  had  entered;  there,  recognizing  Philip's  ap- 
proaching footsteps,  she  paused. 

"  It  is  you,  brother,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  Mariana,  I  have  been  to  Grafton  ;  Mr.  Grey  will 
be  here  this  evening." 

"How  is  Alice  today?" 

"She  is  better.  Dr.  Vane  and  Mr.  Grey  think,  with 
good  nursing,  she  will  recover.  Now  let  me  see  your 
eyes:.  I  pray  every  hour  for  the  restoration  of  your 
vision." 

"  I  am  half  fearful'"  said  Mariana,  "  to  wish  for  my 
eye-sight.  I  am  afraid  if  this  affliction  passes  away  you 
would  care  less  for  me,  but  I  should  be  very  happy  in 
your  joy  at  my  recovery." 

"  God  bless  you,  sweet  sister,"  said  Philip,  parting  the 
golden  hair  to  kiss  her  brow.  "  I  am.  going  to  Mr.  Keau 
now." 

"  The  gentle,  blind  girl  went  away  through  the  shadows, 
of  corridors  and  past  the  lights  of  great  windows. 
Darkness,  as  of  the  grave,,  had  settled  in  her  beautiful 


Ellesmere.  39 

eyes;  but  love  and  heavenly  peace  seemed  to  dwell  in 
her  soul.  Philip  looked  after  her  until  she  passed  out  of 
sight,  and  then  he  entered  the  library. 

"  Good  morrow  to  you,  Mr.  Kean,"  said  he.  "I  have 
been  out  in  the  saddle  this  morning,  and  over  at  Grafton. 
I  learned  that  a  red  fox,  famous  in  the  valley  for  the 
number  of  hard  races  he  has  run,  is  again  lying  in  his 
favorite  cover  near  Satan's  Nose.  Cousin  Percival  has 
gone  to  secure  the  aid  of  Reginald  Vane,  and  I  can 
promise  you  a  good  look  at  the  country,  and  any  amount 
of  hard  riding,  if  you  will  do  us  the  honor  to  join  our 
party,  as  we  shall  try  Reynard  once  more. to-morrow 
morning." 

"I  thank  }tou,  Philip,"  said  Kean;  "I  accept  your 
invitation  with  pleasure,  for,  beside  the  excitement  of  the 
chase,  as  you  suggest,  I  can  see  much  of  the  valley.  We 
are  to  commence  our  studies  after  the  bustle  of  the  races 
has  subsided.  Until  that  time  I  will  take  pleasure  in 
joining  you  and  Mr.  St.  George  in  any  amusement  you 
may  suggest,  which  will  acquaint  me  with  the  surround- 
ing country." 

"  You  will  see  everybody  next  week  at  the  races,  in  the 
meanwhile  I  am  certain  there  are  several  places  I  can 
show  you  in  which  you  will  be  interested.  I  went  before 
breakfast  to  see  Mr.  Grey  at  Grafton.  We  all  love  him 
so  much  we  regret  when  his  week  to  stay  there  arrives." 

"  Philip,"  said  Kean,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  of 
your  former  instructor  with  so  much  affection.  Though 
I  do  not  intend  making  teaching  my  profession  in  life, 
still  it  is  so  noble  a  trust,  when  properly  appreciated,  I 
honor  the  man  who  in  this  matter  fulfills  the  duty  of  his 
station.     I  have  every  reason  to  believe  this  has  been  the 


40  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

case  with  Mr.  Grey,  and  he  is  so  fortunate  with  all  his 
elaborate  instruction  to  retain  your  regard.  Boys  are  too 
apt  to  become  disgusted  with  the  preparations  for  the 
duties  of  life,  and  transfer  their  dislike  of  the  duties  to 
the  teacher.  I  shall  congratulate  myself  if  my  efforts 
shall  be  attended  with  the  same  good  fortune." 

"Mr.  Kean,"  said  Philip,  "I  confess  that  before  you 
came  I  was  prejudiced  against  you.  I  connected  your 
advent  with  my  loss  of  Mr.  Grey's  company  and  instruc- 
tion, but  he  has  satisfied  me  of  his  sacrifice  of  pleasure  to 
a  high  sense  of  duty.  He  assured  me  that  you  were  in 
no  respect  the  cause  of  his  determination,  and  requested 
me  while  I  should  continue  to  remember  our  long  con- 
nection, also  to  love  and  respect  you." 

Thus  engaged  in  conversation  they  had  passed  from 
the  house  through  the  lawn  at  its  rear,  and  had  now 
reached  the  enclosure  in  which  were  the  stable  and  ken- 
nel. These  were  surrounded  by  a  high  stone  wall,  and 
between  them  was  a  barrier  separating  the  horses  from 
the  dogs.  Near  the  gate  stood  a  little  cottage,  over  the 
rude  porch  of  which  a  honeysuckle  had  crept  in  pretty 
festoons.  This  was  the  residence  of  Thompson,  who  had 
been  for  years  paramount  ruler  in  this  portion  of  the 
large  establishment.  This  true  son  of  Africa  was  in  a 
great  measure  the  architect  of  his  fortunes,  having  risen 
from  plow-boy  at  Blenheim  to  his  present  dignity,  and 
now  to  his  commands,  every  stable-boy,  horse,  and  hound 
knew  there  was  wisdom  in  yielding  implicit  obedience. 
He  was  ludicrously  superstitious,  but  reckless  of  danger, 
as  to  mere  bodily  harm.  It  was  strange  to  see  this  huge 
man,  timid  as  a  child  in  the  dark,  but  transformed  at 
daylight  into  the  autocrat  of  the  stable.      The  fiercest 


Ellesmere.  41 

stallion  dared  not  exhibit  temper  in  his  presence,  for  on 
such  occasions  Thompson  became  a  Stentor,  so  sonorous 
and  authoritative  grew  the  blast  of  his  trumpet-like 
voice. 

This  enclosure  had  been  enchanted  ground  to  Philip, 
when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  even  now  to  him  the 
animals  were  sources  of  endless  observation  and  pleasure. 
Thompson's  watchful  care  had  been  such  that  Judge 
Eustace  found  it  seldom  necessary  to  visit  the  spot,  which 
the  stalwart  negro  regarded  as  his  own  rightful  domain. 
When  Philip  and  Kean  entered  the  stable-yard  they 
found  Thompson  leisurely  surveying  one  of  his  assistants 
who  was  engaged  in  rubbing  the  silken  coat  of  the  beau- 
ful  stallion  Black  Sultan. 

"  Uncle  Thompson,"  said  Philip,  "have  everything  in 
readiness  at  day-dawn  to-morrow.  Mr.  Compton's  red 
fox  is  now  near  Satan's  Nose,  and  we  shall  give  him 
another  trial." 

"Yes,  Mars  Phil,"  said  Thompson,  "I  knows  he's  up 
dare,  but  it  taint  my  'pinion  dat  air  fox  is  gwine  to  be  tuck 
no  how;  we  can't  make  sich  a  show  by  eight  dogs  as  we 
did  last  week." 

"  We  shall  supply  the  places  of  Sweetlips  and  the  seven 
other  disabled  dogs  by  the  pack  of  Cousin  Reginald." 

"  Anything  to  please  you,  Mars  Phil,  but  dem  dogs  of 
Mars  Reg's  aint  gwine  to  stay  in  de  hunt  furder  dan  de 
stone  bridge  twixt  Thorndale  and  Ramilies." 

By  Philip's  order,  Thompson  then  brought  out  some  of 
the  thoroughbreds,  which,  with  the  coach  teams,  were 
kept  in  this  stable.  The  first  shown  was  a  superb  chest- 
nut stallion,  named  Tempest,  a  trifle  behind  Black  Sultan 
in  size,  but  fully  fifteen  and  a  half  hands  in  height.    His 


42  The  Heirs  of  St,  Kilda. 

clean,  bony  head  was  held  aloft,  in  consciousness  of  regal 
strength,  while  his  burning  eyes  turned  upon  the  brood 
mares  and  colts  grazing  in  an  adjacent  paddock.  He  was 
four  years  old,  and  had  been  entered  for  the  great  race  to 
be  run  the  ensuing  week.  The  next  horse  led  out  was 
Orion,  a  faultless  blood  bay  of  the  same  age,  the  property 
of  Gov.  Eustace.  Then  came  Sir  Tristram,  a  large  black 
horse,  the  size  of  Sultan,  now  too  old  for  the  turf,  but  ten 
years  before  famous  for  victories  on  more  than  one  field. 
Next  was  seen  a  dark  gray  mare,  Mrs.  Haller,  extremely 
handsome  in  her  glossy  dress,  and  her  form  blood-like  in 
a  high  degree.  The  beauty  of  the  stable  was  Mariana's 
Blanche,  a  graceful  fawn-like  thing,  almost  ideal  in  the 
faultlessness  of  her  appearance.  She  was  milk-white  and 
had  much  of  the  blind  girl's  gentleness  of  nature.  Her 
large  dark  eyes  were  as  soft  as  an  antelope's,  and  seemed 
full  of  tenderness,  as  she  lowered  her  delicate  neck  to 
receive  Philip's  caress.  The  hunters,  Sirius,  Ptarmigan, 
and  Gray  Friar,  were  next  exhibited,  and  in  beauty  of 
form  and  carriage  almost  equalled  the  horses  Kean  had 
alread}-  seen.  Philip  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  show 
the  coach  horses;  but  Judge  Eustace's  long-used  saddle 
horse  was  not  forgotten.  He  was  still  a  fine  animal,  and 
contemporary  with  Marlborough,  a  large  bay,  which 
Thompson  had  considered  for  years  his  property. 

The  sky  had  been  overcast  with  clouds  during  the 
morning,  but  while  they  intercepted  the  glare  of  the  sun- 
light, there  was  no  promise  of  speedy  rain.  So  at  Philip's 
suggestion  Kean  and  he  betook  themselves  to  the  depths 
of  the  park.  They  soon  reached  a  portion  of  the  grounds 
where  the  undulations  of  the  surface  resembled  the  swell 
of  mighty  waves.    They  had  gone  some  distance  from 


Etlesmere.  43 

the  house,  following  the  ineanderings  of  a  walk,  and  now 
they  descended  into  a  darker  and  deeper  dell  than  any 
yet  visited.  Following  the  lead  of  the  pathway,  as  it 
wound  beneath  the  trees  down  in  the  twilight  of  the 
lonely  glen,  they  came  upon  a  scene  of  wild  beauty. 
Over  a  mass  of  almost  perpendicular  rock,  a  volume  of 
water  issued  from  a  point  far  toward  its  summit,  and 
thundered  down  into  the  black  gulf  at  its  base. 

Philip  and  Kean  paused  to  survey  the  wild  cataract 
Just  below  where  they  stood,  the  waters  formed  a  deep 
narrow  stream.  The  pathway  led  along  its  grassy  margin 
in  all  the  windings  of  the  ravine.  They  found  occasional 
obstructions  checking  the  stream  in  its  course,  so  placed 
and  adorned  with  rocks  and  creepers  it  was  difficult  to 
realize  that  they  were  artificial.  They  seemed  miniature 
promontories  formed  there  by  the  accidents  of  nature; 
and  at  the  first  of  them  was  found  a  boat  house  contain- 
ing several  canoes.  Taking  the  smallest  of  them,  they 
passed  along  the  tortuous  course  of  the  stream,  which 
widened  and  deepened  as  it  went;  until  at  some  distance, 
on  turning  a  sharp  bend,  they  glided  out  upon  a  lake.  It 
was  a  scene  of  sudden  and  surprising  beauty.  The  soft 
lines  of  the  hill-tops,  the  velvety  shores,  and  unruffled 
peace  of  the  waters,  made  up  such  a  picture  of  dreamy 
quietude,  that  Kean  envied  the  tall,  silent  herons,  which 
stood  so  listlessly  at  the  other  end  of  the  basin. 

"  Surely,"  said  he,  "  this  lake  is  not  artificial" 

"  No,"  said  Philip.     "This  is  God's  work,  and  it  is  to 
me  the  sweetest  picture  I  have  ever  seen." 

"  It  is  like  the  home  of  the  fairies-,"  said  Kean.     "  What 
is  that  upon  the  island  near  the  other  end?" 

"  A  pavilion  built  by  Sir  Ellesmere  Eustace."' 


44  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  I  see  no  outlet  for  the  water  which  flows  down  the 
glen." 

"  There  is  none  visible,"  said  Philip.  "  Grand-father 
thinks  much  of  it  disappears  by  evaporation  and  that 
some  subteraneous  duct  carries  off  the  remainder." 

"  Has  no  one  painted  this  charming  scene  ?"  said  Kean. 
"  It  is  beautiful  enough  to  inspire  both  poet  and  artist." 

"  M.  de  la  Noue,  who  lives  at  St.  Kilda,  has  a  sweet 
picture  taken  from  the  island,  looking  this  way.  We 
will  visit  him  the  next  time  we  are  in  the  village  if  you 
would  like  to  make  his  acquaintance.  He  was  for  a  long 
time  the  instructor  of  Mariana  and  myself  in  music  and 
drawing.  When  Cousin  Percival  was  a  young  man,  he 
wrote  a  piece  of  poetry  in  relation  to  a  young  lady  he 
loved  in  Europe." 

"  Can  you  repeat  any  of  it." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it  all,  for  I  was  so  impressed  at  first 
that  this  lake  suggested  its  composition  that  I  committed 
it  to  memory.     He  called  it  Gondolied,  and  it  ran  thus  : 

Dreamily  the  mists  are  sleeping 

In  the  twilight's  hazy  glow; 
Mellow  beams  are  softly  streaming 

From  the  moon  on  all  below. 
I  can  hear  the  rippling  water 

Murmur  on  the  grassy  shore, 
I  am  thinking  of  the  future 

Of  the  bliss  it  has  in  store. 
Not  a  leaf  on  high  is  stirring, 

All  the  winds  are  hushed  still-, 
And  the  lilies  now  seem  sleeping 

By  the  faintly-gurgling  rill. 

All  around,  and  high  above  me,  • 

Are  mist-haunted,  purpled  hills; 
And  a  soft  delicious  languor 

All  the  dreamy  landscape  fills. 
Drooping  willows  here  are  weeping 

Silent  tear  drops  on  the  ground, 
i 


Ellesmere.  45 


And  from  out  the  distant  moorland 
Comes  a  faintly  ringing  sound ; 

Yet  our  stillness  is  unbroken, 
As  those  soft  horns  ever  blow, 

From  the  Elf-land  in  the  distance? 
Over  waters  moving  slow* 

By  my  side  a  radiant  maiden 

Sits,  with  love-lit  eyes  of  blue; 
On  my  heart  she's  leaning  listless, 

And  her  hair  is  damp  with  dew. 
On  the  lake  through  mist  and  shadow* 

We  are  floating  with  the  tide, 
And  we  both  are  softly  dreaming 

Of  the  day  she'll  be  my  bride/ 
On  the  plush  of  velvet  cushions 

Rest  we  in  our  fairy  bark, 
In  a  blissful  silence  musing 

Without  movement  or  remark* 

Echoes  round  are  softly  breathing* 

Whisp'rings  on  the  summer  air; 
And  the  moonlight's  placid  glory 

Streameth  full  upon  her  hair; 
Golden  tresses,  which  the  fairies 

All  are  wistful  to  possess: 
Oh!  the  soft  and  dreamy  splendor1 

Of  her  perfect  loveliness  J 
Beauty  far  beyond  the  dreaming 

Of  the  most  ideal  brain ; 
Only  In  the  realm  of  Aidenne 

Could  her  like  be  seen  again. 

Here  I  see  some  star-like  sorrow 

Ever  in  her  pensive  face, 
Strengthening  the  deep  enchantment 

Born  of  beauty  and  of  grace : 
For  it  is  a  sorrow  blended 

With  a  tinge  of  deepest  joy; 
Where  the  changeful  smiles  are  flitting/ 

And  all  thought  of  grief  destroy. 
Airy  forms  are  gliding  round  her; 

Angel  whispers  near  her  play; 
Balmy  breezes  blow  upon  her;— 

Is  it  wondrous  that  I  stay  ? 

All  the  world  is  nought  unto  me; 

Care  has  passed  so  far  away 
In  this  soft  enchanted  region, 

With  this  queen  of  song  I'll  stay; 


46  The  Heirs  of  Si.  Hilda, 

And  from  out  her  silken  bondage 

Forth  I  never  more  shall  rove: 
For  this  blissful,  sweet  enchantment-. 

And  this  fond)  unclouded  love 
Here  detain  me  unresisting, 

While  1  linger  by  her  sides 
In  her  dear  entrancing  presence 

I  shall  evermore  abide. 

"Mr.  St.  George's  versification  is  smooth  and  the  repose 
of  the  ideas  well  sustained,"  said  Kean.  a  Did  you  say 
this  is  a  leaf  from  his  heart-history?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip.  "  My  cousin  has  never  recovered 
from  the  enchantment  he  refers  to  in  the  conclusion  of 
the  piece.  He  loved  Leonora  Orsini  nigh  unto  death, 
and  when  he  lost  her  a  shadow  came  upon  him,  that  all 
the  affection  of  his  friends  has  been  unable  to  lift.  Grand- 
father says  when  Cousin  Percy  first  grew7  up  he  was  the 
gayest  and  handsomest  youth  he  has  ever  seen,  but  you 
know  he  is  anything  else  than  gay  now." 

While  Philip  was  repeating  the  poetry,  they  had  been 
slowly  returning  to  the  point  at  which  they  found  the 
boat.  Here  they  landed  and  returned  to  the  house.  Mr. 
Grey  was  there,  and  Kean  and  he  commenced  an 
acquaintance  which  was  destined  to  become  a  warm  and 
enduring  frienship.  Philip  was  busy  in  his  preparations 
for  the  morrow's  hunt.  He  had  many  reasons  for  using 
every  precaution  to  capture  the  sly  red  fox  which  had 
so  long  baffled  him  and  the  other  huntsmen  of  the 
valley. 


A  Day  in  the  Fields,  47 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    DAY   IN   THE    FIELDS. 

"  Yelled  on  the  view  the  opening  pack-- 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern  paid  them  back; 
To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once, 
The  awakened  mountain  gave  responses 
An  hundred  dogs  bayed  deep  and  strong. 
Clattered  an  hundred  steeds  alohg, 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rang  out, 
An  hundred  voices  joined  the  shout." 

Lady  of  the  Lakex 

As  the  light  of  coming  day  announced  its  approach, 
by  the  faint  illumination  of  the  far-off  summit  of  Hawks* 
head,  St.  George,  Philip,  and  Kean  shook  off  their  slum- 
ber and  rose  to  complete  their  unfinished  preparations. 
They  expected  a  day  of  hard  riding  and  bountiful  excite* 
ment.  After  a  hasty  lunch  they  went  toward  the  ken- 
nel. In  the  gray  dawn  the  long  belt  of  light,  just  above 
the  tops  of  the  great  hills  across  the  river,  was  each  mo- 
ment blushing  more  deeply  with  the  glory  of  the  yet  in- 
visible sun.  Ever  wakeful  chanticleer  had  just  aroused 
his  sleeping  harem ;  when  Thompson,  having  first  tied 
up  the  two  stag-hounds,  which  on  other  occasions  weie 
allowed  the  liberty  of  the  park,  now  blew  a  blast  on  his 
hunting  horn  that  stirred  the  dogs  for  miles  around.  It 
seemed  loud  enough  to  have  awakened  the  dead,  and 
rolled  amid  the  hills  around  as  if  loth  to  cease  its  repeat- 
ing echoes.  This  was  his  announcement  to  the  kennel 
that  work  was  expected  of  them  on  the  occasion,  and 
never  was  leader's  call  more  lustily  answered  by  trusted 
liegemen.     Immediately  there  arose  a  combination    of 


48  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

sounds  that  was  wonderful  in  variety  and  strength  of 
uproar;  as  every  dog  gave  vehement  note  of  his  joy  at 
the  signal.  One  by  one  through  the  half-opened  gate 
Thompson  now  suffered  to  pass  such  of  the  eager  hounds 
as  were  in  his  opinion  in  good  running  order. 

"  Stand  back  dare,  Chloe,"  said  he,  "  you  looks  much 
like  following  that  old,  long-sided,  red  devil  all  day  long ; 
puny  as  you  is.  Come  here  Ringwood.  Now  dare's  a 
dog  folks  can  count  on.  I'll  bet  my  bottom  dollar  he 
leads  the  pack  from  sunrise  to  sunset.  Bless  heaven,  if 
he  aint  the  greatest  dog  ever  smelt  fox  yit  I" 

These  remarks  of  Thompson  were  half  in  soliloquy,  and 
in  part  addressed  to  the  dogs  themselves.  Two  half- 
grown  negro  boys  stood  near  the  gate,  holding  the  horses 
now  ready  for  their  riders,  who  at  this  moment  came  up 
and  awaited  the  conclusion  of  the  process  of  culling 
from  the  kennel  such  dogs  as  their  sable  attendant 
considered  fit  for  the  work  expected  on  that  day.  They 
were  to  follow  a  fox  of  whose  prowess  and  craft  they  had 
the  most  abundant  proof  in  the  past.  They  were  soon 
mounted  and  under  way  for  the  spot  in  which  it  was 
understood  wily  Reynard  now  lurked.  There  was 
scarcely  a  breath  of  wind,  and  the  cool  autumn  air  felt 
delightfully  bracing  to  the  horsemen  as  they  restrained 
the  impatient  pride  of  their  hunters,  whose  blood  was 
sent  dancing  through  their  beautiful  frames  at  each  loud 
demonstration  of  the  hounds.  St.  George  was  riding  a 
chestnut  sorrel,  in  whose  faultless  symmetry  and  spirit 
there  was  nothing  that  even  the  fastidious  Master  of 
Vaucluse  could  find  amiss.  He  was  named  for  the  great 
captain,  Gonsalvo.  Philip  rode  Black  Sultan,  and  Kean 
a  tall,  powerful,  young  horse,  known  in  the  stables  as 


t 

A  Day  in  the  Fields.  49 

Gray  Friar.  Either  of  them  would  have  made  reputation 
had  they  been  placed  on  the  turf.  They  were  selected 
for  their  power  and  capacity  to  sustain  the  long  and 
desperate  fox  chases  which  were  not  unfrequently  seen  in 
St.  Kilda  Valley. 

A  few  birds  were  engaged  in  their  matin  songs,  but 
their  melody  was  scarcely  noticed  in  the  wilder  clamor 
of  a  large  eagle  whose  screams  of  angry  impatience  at  the 
noisy  progress  of  the  hounds  near  her  nest  summoned  to 
her  shrill  cries  the  presence  of  her  mate.  With  headlong, 
speed  they  both  frequently  swept  earthward,  as  if  they 
would  strike  their  extended  talons  into  horseman  and; 
hound ;  but  up  they  arose  again  in  their  swift  flight  into 
great  circles,  churning  the  startled  air  with  their 
wings,  and  giving  increased  note  of  their  vehement  dis- 
pleasure. Kean  was,  at  first,  much  disconcerted  by  one 
of  these  swoops  very  near  his  head,  but  he  was  reassured 
by  his  companions,  who  told  him  that  these  demonstra- 
tions on  the  part  of  the  eagles  never  resulted  in  actual 
assault.  They  were  pets  of  Judge  Eustace,  who  never 
permitted  any  disturbance  of  them,  and  in  gratitude  they,, 
each  year,  occupied  the  same  nest,and  reared  their  young; 
in  the  park.     Arthur  rode  along  repeating  to  himself — 

"He  clasps  the  crag  with  hooked  hands, 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ringed  in  the  azure  world  he  stands. 

He  watcheth,  from  his  mountain  walls, 
The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls, 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls." 

The  party  passed  through  the  park  gate,  and  daylight 
was  now  pouring,  broad  and  full,  upon  all  the  towering 
peaks  of  the  blue,  mist-swathed  mountains.     Midst  great 
4 


t 

50  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda, 

clamor  of  hound  and  horn,  they  turned  their  horses'  heads 
up  the  turnpike,  in  the  direction  of  Satan's  Nose. 

Kean  had  noticed  twenty  dogs  already  trotting  along 
the  road,  when  presently  he  was  astonished  to  meet 
Reginald  Vane  with  as  many  more.  These  were  the  best 
of  his  and  St.  George's  packs. 

"Good  morning,  Vane,"  said  St.  George.  "I  am  glad 
to  see  Mavis  looking  so  well  recovered.  I  feared,  last 
week,  you  would  have  to  put  a  seton  in  his  neck.  I  was 
half  fearful,  too,  that  you  would  not  come  this  morning, 
you  have  become  so  wedded  to  your  hermitage  under  the 
mountains." 

"I  am  glad  you  broke  in  upon  my  laziness,  for  without 
'the  certainty  of  a  good  meeting  I  would  have  given  up 
foxes  for  trout  and  unsuspecting  deer." 

"  We  are  not  diversifying  your  pursuits  very  much  this 
morning,"  said  Kean. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Vane.  "  Trout-fishing  and  deer-stalk- 
ing are  as  different  from  the  noisy  clamor  of  a  fox  chase 
ns  the  quiet  of  my  solitary  house  from  the  bustle  of  St. 
Kilda  during  race  week.  By  the  way,  St.  George,  Comp- 
■ton  says  confidently  that  he  shall  beat  Hildebrand  by 
three  lengths.  I  have  some  hope  that  Redgauntlet  will 
not  bolt  this  time,  for  I  am  going  to  make  Edmund,  who 
is  nearly  a  stone  over  his  proper  weight,  ride  him." 

"  Redgauntlet  is  in  capital  condition,"  said  Philip.  "  I 
saw  Edmund  try  him  over  our  course  last  week  against 
Godiva,  and  he  behaved  very  finety." 

"  Hillo  Thompson  !"  said  Percival.  "  What  are  Tweed 
and  Troubadour  doing  here?" 

"  It's  more  'an  I  can  tell  you,  Mass  Percy,  for  I  tied 
both  of  them  grey  hounds  fast  afore  I  opened  the  kennel." 


A  Day  in  the  Melds.  51 

"  We  can  shut  them  up  at  Glancy's,"  said  Vane. 

"  Why  not  carry  them  along  also?"  said  Kean.  "I 
should  think  they  were  as  fast  any  dogs  I  see  here." 

"  So  they  are,"  said  St.  George,  "  and,  for  the  first  hour, 
would  keep  ahead  of  the  pack,  not  knowing  or  caring 
for  what  they  were  in  pursuit,  unless  a  deer  should  chance 
to  be  lying  in  the  cover  which  the  fox  we  are  seeking  is 
now  said  to  occupy." 

The  party  halted  in  front  of  Mr.  Glancy's  house, 
and  Thompson  and  Vane's  man  Edmund,  having  cap- 
tured the  two  stag-hounds,  whose  company  was  so  little 
desired,  speedily  tied  them  up,  with  the  request  that  they 
should  not  be  set  at  liberty  until  all  danger  of  interrup- 
tion from  them  should  have  passed  by.  The  great  Elles- 
mere  hill  had  now,  at  a  distance  of  four  miles  from  the 
mansion,  sloped  gently  down  into  a  broad,  fair  valley,  on 
a  little  eminence,  in  which,  stood  Robert  Glancy's  home. 
This  vale  stretched  away  to  the  small  river  and  the 
mountains  beyond.  The  party  passed  through  a  gate  on 
the  road-side,  which  opened  into  the  limits  of  the  Graf- 
ton lands.  About  two  miles  off  could  be  seen  the  farm 
buildings.  Satan's  Nose  was  to  the  left,  its  summit  four 
miles  away,  and  around  its  lofty  Southern  exposure  were 
meadow  lands  and  little  glens  which  ran  back  between 
intervening  ridges.  They  passed  through  the  broad 
fields  until  they  came  to  the  edge  of  the  marsh  lands. 

The  loud  outcry  of  one  of  the  hounds  announced 
the  discovery  of  a  warm  trail,  and  a  shout  from  Thomp- 
son soon  brought  the  whole  pack  to  the  assistance  of 
Ringwood,  who  had,  by  this  time,  corroborated  the  less 
authoritative  announcement  of  the  first  striker. 

"  I  will  bet  three  to  one  he  is  in  those  willows  yonder 


52  The  Heirs  of  Si  Kilda. 

at  the  edge  of  the  flax  pond,"  said  Vane.  "  But  it  cannot 
be  that  Compton's  fox  has  come  hereto  sleep.  Edmund, 
go  to  the  other  end  and  look  out  for  him;  I  am  confi- 
dent he  will  pass  in  that  direction." 

The  excited  negro  sped  to  the  point  indicated,  for  the 
foremost  trailers  were  already  entering  the  small  thicket ; 
when  Reynard,  in  an  agony  of  fright,  rushed  by,  closely 
pursued  by  the  hounds  now  in  full  cry.  Edmund  re- 
ported that  a  }roung  gray  fox  had  passed  him.  The  ex- 
perienced huntsmen  well  knew  he  would  not  leave  the 
small  thinly-wooded  valley  that  ran  in  the  direction  of 
Satan's  Nose.  They  rode  up  to  a  small  eminence  from 
which  they  could  watch  the  progress  of  the  chase;  and 
in  a  few  minutes,  like  a  hare,  the  fugitive  had  doubled 
upon  his  track,  and  was  making  for  the  spot  from  which 
he  started.  There  he  was  soon  captured,  St.  George 
managing  to  get  the  first  touch  of  his  brush. 

"This  is  quick  work,"  said  Kean,  as  he  rode  up  to  the 
others  who  had  dismounted. 

"  This  chase  is  nothing,  sir,"  said  Philip.  "  It  is  a  mere 
cub  we  have  taken.  I  should  have  been  glad  if  he  could 
have  remained  unmolested  until  the  next  season  ;  he 
would  have  given  us  a  better  race." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  sly  fellow,  who  lies  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  across  the  meadow,  has  heard  us,  and  is  even  now 
commencing  the  flight  he  knows  so  well  how  to  sustain," 
said  Vane.  "  I  wish  we  had  not  crossed  the  path  of  this 
youngster." 

The  dogs  were  scarcely  blown  at  all  in  this  short  race, 
and  the  party  were  soon  in  motion  again,  toward  the 
point  at  which  they  expected  to  find  the  prince  of  foxes. 
A  great  tulip-poplar  was  pointed  out  to  Kean  as  the  place 


A  Day  in  the  Held.  53 

near  which  his  usual  cover  was  to  be  found.  The  tutor 
was  advised  to  stop  at  the  entrance  of  the  glade,  while 
the  huntsmen  and  dogs  followed  its  course.  Philip  re- 
mained with  him,  but  he  was  loth  to  lose  the  opportu- 
nity of  riding  at  a  stone  fence,  on  the  hill-top,  which  St. 
George  considered  too  dangerous  for  Kean,  who  was  not 
yet  sufficiently  practiced  in  such  things,  to  undertake. 
He  awaited  the  movements  of  the  huntsmen  ;  and  as  soon 
as  they  heard  the  dogs  open  up  the  glade,  they  rode 
swiftly  for  the  fields  just  above  Mr.  Glancy's  house.  When 
they  reached  this  point,  to  which  Philip  knew  the  fox 
must  come  to  avoid  the  river  on  the  right,  they  could  hear 
the  dogs  slowly  coming  on.  This  was  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise, for  the}r  had  fully  expected  a  furious  chase  by  this 
time:  but  soon  the  trail  waxed  into  a  headlong  run,  and 
in  a  few  seconds  Reynard  passed  them  in  full  view  flour- 
ishing his  expanded  brush  defiantly  over  his  back.  He 
was  running  at  a  prodigious  rate,  about  two  hundred 
yards  in  front  of  the  peerless  Ringwood,  who  as  ever  led 
the  bellowing  pack  which  clamored  close  in  his  rear. 
Philip  instantly  recognized  the  far-famed  red  fox,  and 
saluted  him  with  a  shout,  as  he  passed.  Black  Sultan 
felt  the  touch  of  steel  spurs  and  was,  the  next  minute,  by 
the  side  of  Percival  St.  George. 

"  The  devil  must  be  in  this  fox ;"  said  he,  "  did  you  see 
him  when  he  passed." 

"Yes,  he  was  leading  Ringwood  by,  at  least,  two  hun- 
dred yards.  What  made  your  movements,  until  the  last 
mile,  so  slow  ?" 

"  The  old  Red  broke  cover,  as  soon  as  he  heard  us  after 
the  young  fox,  and  was  some  distance  this  side  of  the 


54  The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda. 

stone  wall.     I  have  no  doubt  he  was  leisurely  making 
his  way  out  of  the  neighborhood." 

They  were  now  rapidly  approaching  the  river  where  it 
bends  suddenly  westward,  and,  through  the  broad,  open 
fields,  the  whole  pursuit  was  plainly  to  be  seen.  The  fox 
seemed  conscious  of  his  power,  and  still  shook  his  flag- 
like brush  high  in  the  air.  The  gait  was  exhausting  to 
all  concerned;  but  on  swept  the  wild  cry  of  the  eager 
hounds,  and  still  as  fresh  as  when  they  started  bounded 
the  excited  horses.  Five  good  miles  were  soon  passed 
at  this  fearful  rate,  when  St.  George  proposed,  as  the  fox 
would  probably  cross  the  small  stream  just  above  Vau- 
cluse,  that  they  should  pass  down  to  Knightonsford,  which 
would  cut  off  a  considerable  circuit.  Thompson  was 
directed  to  follow  the  dogs;  and  at  an  easy  gallop  the 
huntsmen  proceeded  to  the  crossing,  and,  having  passed 
the  river,  awTaited  the  approach  of  the  chase.  The  pre- 
cipitous sides  of  the  mountain  barrier  here  approached 
so  close  to  the  stream  that  but  little  distance  separated 
them,  and  as  Reynard  had,  before  this,  in  all  his  previous 
escapes,  made  Hawkshead  his  city  of  refuge,  it  was  reas- 
onably concluded  he  would  follow  his  old  course. 

There  was  now^  a  lull  in  the  storm  of  sound  up  the 
river,  which  plainly  told  that  the  fox  had  been  so  closely 
pressed,  he  was  forced  to  cross  the  stream.  In  a  few 
seconds,  Thompson's  voice  was  heard,  harking  the  dogs 
to  the  recovered  trail,  and,  with  unabated  speed,  the  din 
of  the  pursuit  swept  up  in  the  direction  of  the  party 
awaiting  its  approach.  The  chase  had  by  this  time 
passed  over  at  least  fifteen  miles,  and  they  saw  with  de- 
light, as  Reynard  glided  by  like  a  shadow,  that  the  brush, 
which  was  so  proudly  borne  the  last  time  they  had  seen 


A  Day  in  the  Field.  55 

him,  was  now  drooping  and  somewhat  draggled.  Ring- 
wood,  and  Mavis,  closely  followed  by  a  dozen  strong 
hounds,  held  him  almost  in  view.  With  a  wild  cheer,  as 
they  swept  by,  the  huntsmen  fell  in  their  wake.  Away 
rolled  the  echoing  tumult  toward  the  east.  Thompson, 
with  many  of  the  straggling  dogs,  was  considerably  in 
the  rear. 

Had  they  been  pursuing  any  other  fox,  the  huntsmen 
would  have  counted  upon  a  speedy  capture  after  witness- 
ing the  signs  of  distress  they  had  seen  at  the  ford.  The}7 
were  not  astonished,  then,  after  following  the  dogs  several 
miles,  to  see  no  indications  of  speedy  surrender.  If  there 
was  any  difference  in  the  distance,  which  still  separated 
the  pursuers  and  pursued,  it  was  in  favor  of  the  latter. 
But  just  before  them  lay  the  great  fields  of  the  Thorn- 
dale  farm,  and  there  was  a  prospect  of  seeing  the  fox's 
condition  more  perfectly  than  had  been  afforded  for  a 
considerable  distance  back.  For  some  time  longer,  Rey- 
nard persisted  in  following  the  bend  of  the  river  ;  and  by 
hard  riding  on  the  chord,  while  the  hounds  were  moving 
on  the  arc  of  a  circle,  the  huntsmen  were  rewarded  by 
a  sight  of  the  enemy  now  so  thoroughly  crest-fallen  that 
all  joined  Vane  in  a  wild  shout  of  joy.  Thompson,  on 
his  huge  horse  Marlborough  by  this  time  came  up  ;  and 
he,  hearing  the  cheer,  raised  a  cry  that  rose  high  above 
all  the  confusion  of  sounds  mingling  in  the  deep  excite- 
ment of  the  hour.  Fast  and  furious  swept  the  yelling 
tide  past  Thorndale.  Hawkshead,  with  its  lofty  bare 
summit,  was  growing  higher  momentarily.  At  every 
leap  the  fox  was  coming  closer  to  what,  all  had  reason 
to  believe,  would  be  freedom  and  deliverance  to  him. 
But  one  more  large  field  lay  beyond  this  which  they  had 


56  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

now  entered;  and  then  thick  undergrowth  and  steep 
hill-sides  would  retard  the  progress  of  dog  and  horse,  and 
give  aid  and  comfort  to  the  fugitive  that,  so  really,  seemed 
to  bear  a  charmed  life.  .  But  Ringwood,  Mavis,  and  their 
gallant  supporters,  are  not  now  stretching  every  muscle 
and  tendon  in  vain.  The  fox  sees,  from  the  closeness  of 
their  approach,  that  he  must  be  inevitably  overhauled, 
and  turns  to  the  left  for  a  small  cover  of  weeds  and 
bushes,  on  the  edge  of  the  thin  wood  marking  the  course 
of  the  river.  A  yell  of  satisfaction  arises,  as  the  hunts- 
men see  him  enter  this;  they  consider  it  almost  a  com- 
plete abandonment  of  hope  on  his  part. 

Outfooted  in  the  open  field,  Reynard  was,  by  no  means, 
captured ;  for  he  was  yet  as  full  of  craft,  as  also  of  unfail- 
ing pluck.  The  party,  which,  a  moment  before,  was  so 
hopeful,  now  heard,  with  amazement,  the  cries  of  the 
dogs  suddenly  cease  without  an}r  signs  of  the  death. 
They  had  evidently  come  to  a  dead  loss,  and  all  their 
efforts  and  ingenuity  to  recover  the  trail  amounted  to 
nothing.  They  were  fast  despairing,  when  Thompson, 
having  gone  to  the  mouth  of  a  spring  branch  that  here 
joined  its  tribute  to  the  river,  in  stooping  to  drink  heard 
the  breathing  of  some  tired  animal  under  the  bushes 
that  concealed  the  face  of  an  overhanging  bank.  He 
listened  attentively,  and  looking  for  sometime  steadily  in 
that  direction,  in  the  dark  shade  of  the  shrubbery,  he  saw 
indistinctly  the  small  muzzle  of  cunning  Reynard  pro- 
truding above  the  water.  He  communicated  this  intelli- 
gence to  the  party,  and,  having  called  in  the  dogs,  a  few 
pebbles  thrown  into  the  water  quickly  renewed  the  chase. 

The  huntsmen  supposed  that  the  bath,  which  Reynard 
had  taken,  by  the  coolness  of  the  spring  water,  so  stiffened 


■A  Day  in  the  Fields.  57 

the  weary  limbs  of  the  fugitive  that  he  would  be  soon 
overhauled,  but  they  were  again  mistaken.  With  a 
desperate  and  final  outburst  of  speed  he  led  the  pack 
across  the  wide  field,  and  was  just  entering  another  when 
Philip,  who  was  riding  in  advance,  heard  the  death-cry 
of  rage  and  despair.  For  several  minutes  past  the  lead- 
ing dogs,  having  held  their  quarry  full  in  view,  had  been 
almost  silent  in  the  supreme  exertion  they  were  making. 
Black  Sultan  felt  the  prick  of  the  spurs  as  Philip's  shout 
of  exultation  told  of  victory  won.  In  an  instant  he  had 
reached  the  scene,  and  rushing  amid  the  furious  dogs  laid 
hold  upon  the  brush  which  had  been  so  long  coveted 
by  the  sportsmen  of  the  entire  region. 

Nothing  is  more  surprising  to  people  unaccustomed  to 
such  scenes  than  the  ferocity  of  a  hound  when  enraged 
by  a  long  chase.  His  timidity  utterly  vanishes  on  such 
an  emergency,  and  the  animal  which  yells  at  the  sight 
of  an  uplifted  whip  on  other  occasions  becomes  trans- 
formed into  the  embodiment  of  demoniac  fury* 

Philip,  with  Thompson's  assistance,  wrested  the  body 
of  the  dead  fox  from  the  struggling  dogs — every  one  of 
which  had  proved  himself  of  heroic  endurance  by  the 
work  of  that  day.  For  more  than  thirty  miles  they  had 
followed  their  foe,  and  had  captured  the  very  prince  and 
paragon  of  foxes. 

"  Philip,"  said  St.  George,  "you  have  fairly  won  your 
spurs  to-day,  but  that  was  a  terrible  leap  you  gave  Black 
Sultan  over  the  last  fence." 

"Yes,  cousin,  but  I  was  so  bent  on  taking  this  fox  and 
tailing  him  myself  that  I  took  the  risk." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Kean,  "that  king  Richard,  at  Bos- 
worth,  when  offering  a  kingdom  for  a  horse,  could  not 


58  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

have  surpassed  you  in  your  appreciation  of  your  noble 
steed." 

"  I  suppose  not,  sir,"  said  Philip,  "for  Black  Sultan  has 
forever  endeared  himself  to  me  by  this  day's  work." 

Reginald  Vane  had  ridden  at  the  fence  where  Philip 
crossed,  and  had  taken  a  tumble  by  his  horse's  failure  to 
clear  the  obstruction.  A  few  bruises  on  both,  and  a 
somewhat  dilapidated  condition  as  to  the  rider's  toilet, 
were  the  worst  of  the  bold  huntsman's  discomfiture. 

"  Ah,  Philip,"  said  he  as  he  came  up,  "  I'll  take  Red- 
gauntlet  out  the  next  time  but  what  I'll  be  even  with 
you.  Do  you  know  that  fence  is  a  rail  higher  than  Col. 
Ridgeley's  famous  jump?" 

"  I  didn't  see  how  high  it  was,"  said  Philip,  "  but  I 
was  determined  to  get  in  ahead,  if  I  had  to  take  a  tum- 
ble." 

"  Well,  what  will  the  Comptons  say  now,"  said  St. 
George. 

"  Confound  them,"  said  Vane,  "  it  will  rile  them  and 
Frank  Peyton  as  bad  as  the  loss  of  a  four-mile  race." 

The  party  mounted  and  returned  to  the  spring-branch 
where  it  crosses  the  road  leading  to  Thorndale.  Vane's 
man,  Edmund,  was  sent  to  apprise  Mrs.  Courtenay  of  their 
intention  to  dine  with  her,  and  they  dismounted  to 
slake  their  own  and  their  animals'  thirst.  In  the  deep 
shade,  upon  a  sward  that  was  soft  and  green,  the  tired 
hunters  and  dogs  halted  for  refreshment  after  the  long 
and  hurried  progress  of  the  day. 

"  Philip,"  said  Vane,  "  did  you  see  Miss  Yelverton  last 
week  at  the  Capital." 

"  Yes,  Cousin  Reg.,  but  she  is  [married  you  know,  and 
is  now  Mrs.  Thorne." 


A  Day  in  the  Fields.  59 

"  Ah — I  had  not  heard  of  that,"  said  Vane.  "  St.  George, 
there  went  your  last  chance." 

"  Don't  you  pity  me,"  said  Percival. 

"  You  had  no  pity  on  her  Cousin  Percy,"  said  Philip. 

"  How  was  that,  Philip,"  said  Vane. 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember  her  stay  with  us  last 
Christmas.  She  cured  me  of  all  my  fancy  for  her  by  her 
unmistakable  preference  for  Cousin  Percy;  and  then  to 
think  that  he  should  have  gone  off  to  Vaucluse  and  left 
so  beautiful  a  woman  in  love  with  him." 

"  Philip,"  said  St.  George  very  gravely,  "  please  remem- 
ber that  you  are  speaking  of  a  married  lady." 

"  Cousin  Percy,  you  know  it  is  true." 

"  I  know  that  Rosamond  should  have  taught  you  better 
than  to  be  falling  in  love  with  Miss  Yelverton  and  get- 
ting jealous  of  me." 

"  Rosamond  knows  that  I  love  her  best  of  all,  and 
allows  me  a  fancy  now  and  then.  Cousin  Helen  does  the 
same  with  one  of  my  friends,"  said  Philip,  with  a  glance 
at  Vane. 

"  Ah,  you  scape-grace,"  said  Vane,  "  you  are  as  boun- 
teous in  your  favors  as  if  that  girl  were  never  to  hear  of 
your  many  infidelities." 

"  Cousin  Reg.,  I  am  all  devotion  to  Miss  Courtenay," 
and  lying  there,  with  clear,  full  voice  he  sang  : 

She  is  so  fair,  Ah  me,  so  fair! 

The  lilies  droop  their  heads  in  shame; 
Her  soft,  dark  eyes,  divinely  rare, 

Make  all  the  world  else  weak  and  tame; 
The  tender  glow  of  twilight  stars 

Is  not  one-half  so  dear  to  me — 
Madonna  eyes  in  smiles  and  tears, 

That  melt  or  flash  so  splendidly. 


60  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


She  is  so  sweet,  Ah  me,  so  sweet! 

So  gentle  in  her  loveliness — , 
I  worship  e'en  her  dainty  feet 

And  all  her  perfect  beauty  bless  ; 
I  hear  her  voice — look  in  her  eyes — 

All  other  things  are  naught  to  me; 
Ambition's  dream  within  me  dies. 

I  am  her  slave  eternally. 


Thorndale  Cottage.  61 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THORNDALE   COTTAGE. 

"There  along  the  dale, 
With  woods  o'erhung,  and  shagged  with  niossy  rocks, 
Where  on  each  hand  the  gushing  waters  play, 
And  down  the  rough  cascade  white  dashing  fall, 
Or  gleam  in  lengthened  vista  through  the  trees, 
You  silent  steal,  or  sit  beneath  the  shade 
Of  solemn  oaks  that  tuft  the  swelling  mounts."— Seasons. 

Thorndale  Cottage  was,  in  every  respect,  the  opposite 
of  the  Ellesmere  place.  It  stood  at  the  entrance  of  a  wild, 
mountain  dale,  overlooked  on  three  sides  by  lofty  hills. 
Its  beautiful  lawns  were  but  slightly  elevated  above  the 
smooth  meadow  lands  in  front.  It  was  originally  a  cot- 
tage, and,  with  all  its  additions  and  adornments,  was  still 
true  to  its  name.  Ellesmere,  with  its-  proud  eminence, 
overlooking  the  country  far  around,  appeared  with  its 
tower  and  battlements  half  feudal  in  strength.  The 
first  American  Philip  Eustace  selected  the  quiet  beauty 
and  seclusion  of  this  pretty  retreat,  and  used  his  large 
wealth  but  sparingly  in  the  way  of  architectural  embellish- 
ments. Since  his  day,  in  the  century  which  had  elapsed, 
much  had  been  done  in  the  way  of  enlarging  and  beauti- 
fying both  the  house  and  the  grounds.  To  this  sweet, 
hill-surrounded  dale  Philip  Eustace  brought  his  charm- 
ing young  bride.  Henrietta  St.  George  had  been  in  the 
court  of  the  second  George  of  England  one  of  its  chief 
beauties  and  attractions.  She  was  witty,  and  pitiless  to 
her  admirers,  and  the  young  American,  with  all  his 
wealth — which  was  grossly  exaggerated  by  report — had 
sighed  in  vain,  until  the  death  of  Queen  Caroline  lost  the 


62  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

fair  Henrietta  her  place  as  maid  of  honor.  Thus,  after 
reigning  the  belle  of  a  gay  circle  in  a  great  capital,  she 
came  to  this  spot,  and,  with  her  handsome  and  genial 
husband,  became  even  more  popular  and  influential  than 
her  sister-in-law,  Lady  Ellesmere  Eustace.  Philip  was, 
somewhat,  less  intellectual  than  his  brother,  but  his 
wealth  and  elegant  manners  soon  made  him  the  most 
engaging  man  in  all  St.  Kilda  Valley.  The  only  clouds 
which  crossed  the  horizon  of  his  pleasant  life  were  the 
deaths  of  several  children.  Templeton  Eustace  was  the 
only  one  of  them  who  reached  manhood,  and  he  was  the 
grandfather  of  Mrs.  Courtenay,  who  now  resided  upon 
the  estate.  Sometimes  she  visited  the  city  establishment 
she  had  occupied  before  her  husband's  death,  but  these 
interruptions  of  her  stay  at  Thorndale  became  less  fre- 
quent with  the  lapse  of  time. 

The  hunting  party  was  graciously  received  by  the  lady 
of  the  house,  beneath  her  vine-covered  verandahs.  Mrs. 
Courtenay  preserved  the  family  characteristic  of  personal 
beauty.  She  was  a  tall,  pleasant-looking  woman,  of  five 
and  thirty,  and  yet  wore  her  widow's  weeds  for  him  who 
had  died  so  many  years  before. 

Rosamond,  her  only  daughter,  was  out  on  the  lawn 
with  young  Philip,  looking  at  the  fox  in  whose  capture 
he  was  still  exulting.  As  they  stand  in  the  mellow 
autumn  sunlight  they  present  a  pretty  picture  of  youth- 
ful trust  and  happiness.  The  handsome  young  hunts- 
man is  holding  up  the  dead  fox  for  inspection,  but  the 
large,  black  eyes  of  the  maiden  are  more  engaged  with 
the  short,  crispy  curls  on  the  high,  white  brow  of  him 
before  her  than  with  the  size  and  beauty  of  Reynard. 
The  tall,  straight  figure  leans  trustingly  upon  his  arm, 


Thorndale  Cottage.  63 

and  the  look  of  satisfaction  and  sympathy  which  lights 
up  her  face  is  beautiful  to  behold.  Rosamond  Courtenay 
was,  at  that  day,  a  mystery  to  all  beholders.  She  was 
nearly  fourteen  years  old,  and  was  as  yet  so  thin  and 
angular  in  her  figure  that  even  the  splendor  of  her  lus- 
trous eyes  and  the  beauty  of  her  mouth  could  not  blind 
observers  to  the  evident  plainness  of  the  tout  ensemble. 
In  spite  of  this,  no  one  ever  dreamed  of  saying  she  was 
unattractive.  There  was  some  mysterious  charm  in  her 
look  and  manner  that  riveted  the  gaze  of  every  one  in 
the  vain  effort  to  fathom  and  explain  why  they  were  so 
attracted. 

It  was,  as  yet,  a  doubtful  question  what  Rosamond 
would  be  in  the  future.  Perci  val  St.  George,  who  was  a  wor- 
shipper of  the  beautiful  in  all  its  developments,  believed 
she  would,  some  day,  become  as  radiant  as  the  love  of  his 
early  youth  ;  but  Mrs.  Courtenay  would  sigh  when  she 
saw  Mariana  with  her  daughter,  and  tell  her  that  unless 
she  read  fewer  books  she  would  become  a  plain-looking 
blue-stocking.  Rosamond  dearly  loved  the  old  romancers 
and  poets,  and,  even  when  she  took  the  stag-hound 
Hubert  out  for  a  stroll  up  the  glen  among  the  bases  of 
the  mountains,  she  carried  her  book  in  her  hand.  She 
was,  generally,  shy  in  company,  and  could  be  induced  to 
talk  but  little;  but  when  Philip  and  Mariana  could  get 
her  in  the  recess  of  some  window,  where  they  were  unob- 
served, she  became  transformed,  as  soon  as  a  story  was 
called  for.  On  such  occasions  she  was,  as  it  were, 
entranced  in  the  wonderful  play  of  her  fancy,  and  fairy 
tales,  so  amplified  and  adorned,  that  their  authors  would 
have  scarcely  recognized  them,  would  flow,  by  the  hour, 
from  lips  which  then  seemed  those  of  some  rapt  sybil. 


64  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

The  coming  marriage  of  Philip  and  Rosamond  was 
deeply  desired  by  all  branches  of  the  family.  To  her, 
this  prospect  had  ever  been  full  of  pleasant  images, 
for  she  admired  the  bold  youth  above  all  human  beings. 
His  warm  and  fearless  nature  had  given  him  a  romantic 
charm  to  her  ever-active  imagination,  and  she  had  been 
long  castle-building  in  her  dreams  of  their  future.  Philip 
loved  Rosamond  for  her  gentle  nature  and  manifest  de- 
votion to  himself;  but  this  did  not  prevent  occasional 
fancies  for  the  grown-up  beauties  that  he  met  in  the  gay 
society  of  St.  Kilda  Valley.  At  dinner  parties  and  other 
festivities,  he  sometimes  brought  tears  to  her  eyes,  by 
these  little  infidelities ;  but  his  repentance  and  a  few 
caresses  soon  restored  sunshine  to  the  confiding  girl. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  led  the  tired  and  hungry  hunts- 
men to  a  dinner  that  gave  them  the  amplest  satisfac- 
tion. Rare,  old  wines,  and  delicatety  concocted  jellies  and 
sauces,  gave  additional  relish  to  their  already  apprecia- 
tive appetites;  and  above  all  the  sweet  dignity  with 
which  she  presided  gave  a  charm  to  the  occasion,  which 
can  only  be  realized  in  the  tact  and  refinement  of  such  a 
presence. 

"  What  think  you,  Mr.  Kean,"  said  she,  "  of  our  Valley 
of  St.  Kilda.  You,  doubtless,  saw  much  of  it  in  your  long 
chase  to-day." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  Madam,  that  I  am  charmed  with 
all  I  have  seen,  and  could  but  regret  that  our  headlong 
speed  prevented  my  dwelling  on  many  enchanting  views 
that  were  constantly  opening  in  my  sight  as  I  passed." 

"  You  must  have  had  a  most  vigorous  and  exciting 
chase,  and  Philip  has  fairly  won  his  spurs,  after  so  much 


Thorndale  Collage.  65 

hard  riding.     Rosamond,  you  seemed  much  interested  in 
the  dead  fox." 

"  Yes,  Mother,  for  you  must  know  Philip  has  promised 
to  make  me  a  present  of  this  most  redoubtable  animal, 
and  I  am  going  to  keep  it  as  a  trophy  of  his  early 
prowess." 

"  Yes,  Cousin,"  said  Philip,  "  Mr.  Kean  and  I  will  pre- 
pare the  skin  of  Reynard  in  such  a  way  that  Rosamond 
can  see  him  in  her  bower  almost  as  life-like  as  when  he 
started  from  his  cover  this  morning." 

"  I  think,"  said  Kean,  "  we  can  make  a  very  pleasing 
addition  to  Miss  Rosamond's  retreat  of  this  famous 
animal.  The  fox  in  apparent  pursuit  of  some  startled 
birds  in  the  midst  of  artificial  shrubbery,  and  shut  up  in 
an  air-tight  glass  case — if  the  skin  is  well  preserved — will 
be  something  novel  among  the  canaries  and  flowers." 

"  We  will  go,  after  dinner,  Mr.  Kean,"  said  Rosamond, 
"  and  you  and  Philip  can  make  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments. I  expect  that  such  an  addition  to  my  pets  will 
throw  the  birds  into  a  fever  of  excitement,  and  Hubert 
will  show  such  signs  of  his  displeasure  that  it  will  re- 
quire much  coaxing  to  get  him  into  a  good  humor." 

"  Rosamond,"  said  Vane,  "  I  expect  Fred.  Compton  will 
be  doubly  chagrined  when  he  hears  that  Philip  has  taken 
the  fox  which  he  has  so  often  pursued  in  vain,  and  has 
also  given  him  to  you." 

"  Now,  listen  to  your  teasing  again,  Cousin  Reginald  ; 
you  know  that  Fred,  is  making  love  to  Mae  Glancy.  As 
much  as  he  may  dislike  being  beaten  in  the  capture  of 
this  fox,  which  all  of  you  have  been  so  anxious  to  effect, 
I  am  confident  he  will  care  nothing  for  my  having  it." 

"  Fred,  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  for  such  a  thing," 
5 


66  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

said  Percival  St.  George.  "  He  will  be  worried  to  think 
that  our  dogs  could  overtake  a  fox  which  has  so  often 
baffled  his  father's  pack;  but  it  would  be  very  churlish 
for  hiin  to  dislike  Rosamond's  possession  of  his  effigy." 

"Could  he  not  console  himself  by. saying  you  had  a 
larger  number  of  hounds  than  he  mustered  in  his  fruitless 
chases?"  said  Kean. 

"No,"  answered  St.  George,  "for  Mr.  Compton  and 
Frank.  Peyton  have  followed  him  several  times  the  whole 
length  of  the  valley  with  their  united  packs.  Their  last 
chase  was  made  with  the  assistance  of  Col.  Ridgely's  dogs, 
thus  largely  outnumbering  the  force  with  which  we  took 
the  field  this  morning." 

"Fred,  must  wait  until  next  week,"  said  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay.  "  Who  knows  but  that  he  may  get  his  revenge  at 
the  races?" 

"  That  satisfaction  ma}^  be  in  store  for  him,"  said  St, 
George,  "  but  I  think  Hildebrand  has  more  to  fear  from 
Philip's  horse,  Tempest,  and  Reginald's  Redgauntlet 
than  Pepin,  notwithstanding  the  great  things  Mr.  Comp- 
ton expects  of  him." 

"  Cousin  Percival,  what  think  you  of  my  Leda?"  said 
Rosamond.  "  Uncle  Isaac  says  she  will  be  fit  for  me  to 
ride  by  next  Spring.  He  wants  me  to  have  her  trained 
for  the  race-course,  but  I  am  not  willing  to  expose  her  to 
the  gaze  and  criticism  of  such  a  place,  not  to  mention  the 
strange  figure  I  should  present  in  competing  with  you 
gentlemen,  in  what  is  claimed  as  an  exclusive  privilege 
of  your  sex." 

"That  is,  certainly,  a  quaint  idea  of  Isaac's,"  said  St. 
George.  "  Leda  is  a  beauty,  and  would,  doubtless,  sus- 
tain herself,  and  bring  no  discredit  on  her  high  lineage ; 


Thorndale  Cottage.  67 

but  she  is  destined  to  a  more  graceful  duty,  if  }'ou  make 
her  your  palfrey." 

"  Philip,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "  I  hear  that  your  father 
is  expected  home?" 

"  Yes,  he  will  come  to-morrow  night.  I  left  him  at 
the  Capital  a  week  ago,  and  he  then  fully  intended  to  be 
at  Ellesmere  during  the  races." 

"  I  am  glad  that  pretty  Miss  Yelverton  is  married," 
said  Rosamond,  "  otherwise  I  should  look  for  her  to  be 
coming  with  Cousin  Ashton  again ;  and  then  I  would 
hear  nothing  from  Philip  but  praises  of  her  beauty." 

"Rosamond,"  said  Percival,  "if  I  wrere  you  I  would 
make  Philip  behave  better.  A  flirtation  with  Frederick 
Compton,  or  some  other  young  man,  would  go  far  towards- 
curing  him  of  these  roving  fancies." 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  return  good  for  evil.  I  am  all  con- 
stancy." 

Cousin  Henrietta,"  said  Philip,  "you  can  bear  me  wit- 
ness that  Rosamond  has  made  me  almost  as  jealous  as 
Othello,  by  at  least  a  dozen  flirtations  with  this  same 
Fred.  Compton." 

"  They,  certainly,  have  much  to  talk  about  sometimes," 
said  Mrs.  Courtenay.  "  For  instance,  at  Col.  Ridgely's, 
while  you  were  visiting  your  father,  she  and  Fred,  were, 
all  the  evening  when  not  dancing,  engaged  on  some  sub- 
ject which  seemed  of  great  interest  to  both." 

"  Oh  Mother  !  I  was  only  telling  him  those  wild  stories 
I  had  read  in  Coleridge — "  Christabel "  and  the  "  Ancient 
Mariner."  I  missed  Philip  and  Mariana  so  much  that  I 
asked  Fred,  to  leave  the  dance,  and  go  with  me  to  the 
window  on  the  east,  to  talk  about  what  they  were  proba- 
bly doing  in  the  Governor's  palace,  away  across  the  coun- 


68  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

try  at  the  Capital ;  and  then  the  great,  red  moon  came  up 
between  the  two  hills  across  the  river.  "We  sat  there 
watching  the  illumination  of  Hawkshead's  summit,  and 
the  broad  belt  of  light  across  the  river ;  and  I  was  hap- 
pier there  than  among  the  dancers.  That  was  the  reason 
of  our  long  conversation.  I  always  tell  Fred.,  when  he 
says  he  loves  me,  that  it  must  only  be  as  a  friend,  for  I 
belong  to  Philip." 

"  Tell  us  something,  Philip,  you  saw  and  did,  while 
you  were  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay.  "  Were  you  at  any 
parties  while  in  the  city  ?" 

"  We  attended  several,  but  I  enjoyed  m\7self  most  at  an 
evening  reception  which  father  gave.  Among  the  first 
who  came  was  our  old  acquaintance  Miss  Yelverton,  now 
Mrs.  Thorne.  She  was  more  beautiful  than  ever,  in  the 
superb  velvet  she  wore,  with  her  hair  intertwined  with 
pearls.  She  asked  Mariana  and  myself  to  show  her  the 
night-blooming  cereus  in  the  conservatory,  but  I  think 
she  wished  to  inquire  about  some  one  whom  I  know  she 
has  not  forgotten,  although  she  is  married  to  another. 
She  looked  like  a  queen,  but  Mariana  seemed  nearer 
an  angel  that  night  than  I  have  ever  seen  her.  When 
we  returned  to  the  drawing-rooms,  the  guests  had  nearly 
all  arrived,  and  I  could  but  notice  the  general  and  invol- 
untary tribute  of  admiration  bestowod  upon  my  sister,  as 
she  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Thorne.  Among  those 
most  touched  by  her  loveliness  was  a  distinguished 
French  occulist,  who  at  once  told  my  father  that  he 
thought  it  possible  to  restore  her  lost  vision.  I  would  be 
almost  willing  to  die  if  he  could  only  realize  the  hope  he 
has  excited  in  my  heart." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  these  travelling  doctors,"  said  St.  George, 


Thorndale  Cottage.  69 

"  but  this  man's  credentials  are  from  the  greatest  savans 
of  Europe  and  America,  and  he  was  fast  rising  to  emi- 
nence when  I  was  last  in  Paris.  The  treatment  he 
recommends  is  simple  and  harmless;  so  if  he  fails  in 
effecting  a  cure  it  will  make  her  condition  no  worse." 

"  From  what  I  have  seen  of  Miss  Mariana's  eyes,"  said 
Kean,  "  I  should,  certainly,  conclude  that  the  lenses  and 
retina  are  uninjured,  and  the  difficulty  of  vision  is,  as 
the  physician  suggests,  in  the  optic  nerve  having  be- 
come weak  from  the  severe  illness  she  suffered  a  year 
ago." 

Dinner  being  over,  some  of  the  party  repaired  to  the 
drawing-rooms,  from  the  northern  windows  of  which  the 
views  were  now  superb.  The  declining  sun  had  already 
commenced  throwing  across  the  valley  long  shadows 
from  the  mountain  peaks.  Satan's  Nose,  Ellesmere,  and 
the  great  hills  of  the  east,  were  still  touched  by  the 
sunlight;  but  the  vales  and  gorges  were  becoming  indis- 
tinct in  the  deepening  gloom.  Rosamond  had  gone  with 
Kean  and  Philip  to  view  the  maiden's  bower,  and  they 
found  everything  therein  so  carefully  arranged  that  it 
justified  the  pains  taken  lest  the  purposed  innovation 
should  appear  out  of  taste  amid  the  things  of  beauty  and 
grace  previously  collected.  This  most  charming  retreat 
had  been  built  by  Philip  Eustace  who  lived  a  century 
before  for  his  young  wife.  It  was  shaded  by  two  large 
hemlocks,  and  was  half-hidden  by  clustering  vines 
Slender  balconies  supported  the  bird-cages  in  the  front 
windows,  while  a  pretty  fountain  leaped  high  in  the  air, 
with  its  incessant  shower.  This  sparkling  jet  rose  near 
the  front  of  a  great,  projecting  oriel  which  formed  a  small 
room  of  itself.     Having   arranged  everything  tD   their 


70  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

satisfaction,  they  joined  the  company  in  the  other  part 
of  the  house.  Rosamond  was  pleased  to  have  any  me- 
mento of  Philip,  and  she  now  mused  of  how,  in  after 
days,  she  would  exhibit  this  fox,  which  had  been  so  long 
a  theme  of  wonder,  to  all  the  sportsmen  of  the  valley, 
and  had  been  untouched  bv  human  hand  until  brought 
as  a  trophy  to  herself.  She  resolved  to  keep  it  with  the 
same  devotion  that  the  Maid  of  Astolat  lavished  upon 
the  shield  of  the  great  Sir  Launcelot,  the  star  of  ancient 
chivalry. 

The  bright,  autumn  moon  shed  her  silvery  radiance 
over  the  peaceful  valley.  Hawkshead,  Maiden's  Peak, 
and  Harcourt  Hill,  were  all  aglow  in  the  broad,  fair  light 
that  rested  upon  their  lofty  summits.  The  curling  mists 
slowly  arose  from  the  mountain  gorges  now  dark  in  im- 
penetrable shadow ;  and  the  horsemen,  wearied  with  the 
hardships  of  the  past  day,  had  been  riding  in  silence  since 
leaving  Thorndale  Cottage. 

"  Mr.  Kean,"  said  St.  George,  "  do  you  see  the  small 
mountain  just  in  the  great  bend  to  the  south  of  that 
bright  star  which  almost  seems  touching  Harcourt  Hill  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Kean,  "  you  mean  the  peak  with  the  cleared 
spot  halfway  up  its  side?" 

"  That  hill,"  said  Percival,  "  was  the  scene  of  a  dark  and 
terrible  tragedy.  About  fifty  years  ago  a  thrifty  farmer 
lived  in  the  valley  at  its  foot,  and  there  reared  four  stal- 
wart sons.  George  Bolton  was  the  second  of  them,  and, 
by  his  daring  and  success  in  hunting,  became  famous  in 
the  little  community  then  living  in  the  valley.  He  was 
a  tall,  noble-looking,  young  man,  and  my  father,  who  was 
nearly  the  same  age,  was  frequently  with  him  in  the 
mountains,  seeking  game.     This  acquaintance  brought 


Thorndale  Cottage.  71 

George  Bolton,  occasionally,  to  Vaucluse,  and  in  the 
course  of  his  visits  he  met  a  pretty  girl  named  Mary 
Lawton,  who  had  been,  for  a  short  time,  an  assistant  of 
my  grandmother  in  the  management  of  her  household. 
After  several  years  of  faithful  love  between  these  young 
people,  through  my  father's  earnest  entreaties,  the  objec- 
tions urged  by  George's  parents  to  their  union  were  over- 
come. The  only  ground  of  this  opposition  had  been  the 
poverty  of  the  young  couple.  George  had  often  noticed 
a  beautiful  little  nook  just  below  the  clearing  which  you 
see.  In  this  secluded  spot,  close  to  a  spring  which  poured 
its  ceaseless  tribute  down  the  mountain  side,  he  built  a 
cottage,  with  his  own  hands,  in  which  he  promised  him- 
self years  of  quiet  enjoyment  with  the  maiden  he  had 
wooed  and  won.  The  house  was  in  a  dell,  overshadowed 
by  the  surrounding  trees.  The  chimney  was  constructed 
with  a  view  to  economy,  upon  a  stone  that  was  so  formed 
by  nature  that  George  Bolton  found,  ready  made  to  his 
use,  an  indestructible  hearth.  They  were  married  in  the 
midst  of  Christmas  festivities,  and  the  happy  bride  saw 
no  trace  of  displeasure  in  the  cordial  kindness  with 
which  she  was  greeted  by  the  parents  of  her  husband. 
The  ceremony  had  taken  place  at  Vaucluse,  and  farmer 
Bolton  had  given  them  a  party  at  his  house;  so  on  the 
third  night  after  their  marriage  they  took  up  their  abode 
in  the  only  room  the  cottage  afforded." 

"  George  Bolton,  from  some  fatal  fancy,"  continued 
Percival,  "  had  worked  for  many  days  on  his  house,  in 
the  cold,  saying  he  would  have  no  fire  'till  his  blooming 
bride  should  come  there  to  be  warmed  by  its  heat.  The 
friends,  who  had  seen  them  safely  in  possession  of  their 
new  home.,  had   all  departed,  and  in   the  course  of  the 


72  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

evening,  after  many  compliments  from  the  happy  girl  on 
the  comfort  and  completeness  she  [saw  around  her,  they 
retired  to  rest.  Late  in  the  night  they  were  awakened 
by  some  strange  noises  about  the  house.  Unsuspicious 
of  the  deadly  peril  awaiting  him,  the  bridegroom  sprang 
from  his  bed  to  revive  the  almost  expiring  embers  on  the 
fire-place,  and  to  discover  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 
He  had  scarcety  taken  a  step  in  that  direction  when  a 
hundred  rattle-snakes,  on  the  floor,  gave  their  terrific 
note  of  displeasure-  They  lay  so  thickly  that  George 
Bolton  stumbled  and  fell  among  them.  In  an  instant  he 
felt  twenty  deadly  fangs  planted  in  his  body,  and  could 
only  say  to  his  wife  that  he  was  dying.  His  love  for  her 
triumphed  in  his  last  moments,  for  he  manifested  no  fear 
and  did  not  endeavor  to  regain  the  bed,  but  directing 
her  to  cover  her  head  until  help  should  come,  speedily 
expired.  The  young  widow,  in  an  agony  of  grief  and 
fear,  complied  with  his  last  injunction,  while  the  fierce 
din  of  the  rattles  was  still  kept  up.  Through  the  long 
and  seemingly  endless  hours  of  the  night  the  hapless 
creature  lay  almost  suffocating,  for  the  reptiles  were  soon 
upon  the  bed,  and  she  could  feel  them  gliding  over  her, 
as  if  in  search  of  another  victim." 

"Some  of  the  neighbors  came  on  the  next  morning, 
and  were  surprised  to  find  the  door  of  the  house  closed. 
No  answer  was  returned  to  their  calls,  and  having  forced 
open  the  door,  they  were  horrified  at  the  ghastly  spectacle 
before  them.  The  hideously  swollen  and  distorted  body 
lay  upon  the  floor,  surrounded  by  throngs  of  now  com- 
paratively quiet  rattle-snakes.  The}'  were  killed  and  the 
widowed  bride  rescued.  She  had  gone  there,  less  than 
twenty-four  hours  before,  a  picture  of  health  and  happi- 


Tliorndale  Cottage.  73 

ness;  she  had  become,  through  the  intense  suffering  of 
the  fatal  night,  gray-haired  and  prematurely  old." 

"  How  was  such  an  extraordinary  congregation  of  rat- 
tle snakes  accounted  for?"  said  Kean. 

"  They  had  collected  under  the  hearth  of  the  cottage, 
unknown  to  George  Bolton,  and  were  warmed  into  life  by 
the  fire.  They  have  not  infested  the  house  much  since 
that  time,  for  on  one  occasion,  being  overtaken  by  a 
blinding  storm  of  rain,  I  was  forced  to  abandon  the  chase 
in  which  I  was  engaged,  and  found  shelter  within  its 
walls." 

"What  became  of  the  bride,  cousin  Percy?"  said 
Philip. 

"  She  never  entirely  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the 
grief  and  horror  she  experienced  that  night,  but  returned 
to  Vaucluse,  and  died  in  less  than  two  years." 

"  Mass  Percy,"  said  Thompson,  who  was  riding  close 
behind  and  listening,  "you  don't  say  you  undertook  to 
sleep  in  that  house;  for  I  should  bin  afeard  of  Mr. 
Bolton's  ghost,  let  alone  all  dem  nasty,  venemoussarpunts 
folks  says  lives  all  over  dat  hill  now  jest  like  de  used  to 
do." 

"  Yes,  Thompson,  I  slept  soundly,  without  disturbance 
from  snake  or  goblin,  although  we  kept  a  bright  look  out 
for  fear  of  the  reptiles." 

"  Well,  Mass  Percy,  I'm  a  heap  too  chicken-hearted  to 
a  done  sich  a  thing." 

"  Cousin  Reginald,"  said  Philip,  "have  you  heard  how 
old  Troubadour  frightened  uncle  Thompson?" 

"  No,"  said  Vane,  "  how  was  that,  Thompson  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mass  Reg.,  dare  was  a  quiltin'  frolic 
'mongst  the  colored  folks  over  at  Grafton  ;  so  a  leetle  arter 


74  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

dark  I  stepped  over  to  see  what  fun  was  a  gwine  on.  Old 
'oman  Nancy  was  agin  my  gwine,  but  I  went  anyhow; 
and  a  lively  time  of  it  we  had.  Well,  t'wards  day,  I 
started  home  by  a  nigh  cut  cross  de  plantation,  and  I  was 
nigh  bout  got  over  de  foot-way  long  dare  in  de  slashes, 
when,  somehow  or  other,  I  got  monstous  uneasy  like, 
fur  I  knowd  'twas  jus  long  dare  old  man  Simon  got 
drownded  when  I  was  a  boy.  Master  thought  uncle 
Simon  was  drunk,  but  we  colored  folks  'blievesde  place  is 
onlucky  anyhow,  I  was  feelin  mighty  skittish,  I  can 
tell  you,  case  I  thought  I  heered  suppen.  I  whistled 
awhile,  and  I  listened  awhile,  and  good  gracious,  I  heered 
suppen  on  de  foot  pieces  right  ahead  o'  me  a  soundin 
like  chains  draggin  along,  an  er  gittin  nigherand  nigher 
to  me,  until  I  got  off  o'  de  log  to  let  de  thing  pass  by  if 
it  was  gwine  to.  I  kep  a  lookin  and  a  lookin,  when  de 
fus  thing  I  knowd  I  disarned  two  great,  big  balls  o'  fire. 
I  jes  trim  bled  all  over,  and  de  sweat  come  a  bustin  out, 
an  I  was  nigh  bout  fit  to  die  anvhow,  when  de  thins 
rared  up  an  put  his  cole  nose  agin  my  face.  Well,  you 
know  dare  aint  a  horse  in  de  valley  dat  can  git  through 
de  mire  along  dare,  but  if  you  blieve  me,  I  wont  a  studyin 
about  de  mire.  Gentlemens,  I  jes  nately  ris  an  flew,  but 
fast  as  I  run  and  loud  as  I  hollored,  I  heered  dem  chains 
a  jinglin  right  close  behind  me,  till  I  stumbled  an  fell 
down.  I  jes  shet  my  eyes  and  lay  dare,  when  de  thing 
come  up  er  smellin  an  a  whinin,  an  den  lay  down  side 
o'  me.  I  jes  gin  up  for  loss,  an  lay  dare,  afeered  to  open 
my  eyes  or  move  till  daybreak,  when,  bless  your  soul,  I 
peeped  'round  an  'twant  nothin  arter  all  but  dat  ole 
stag-hound,  Troubadour.  He'd  got  his  chain  loose  where 
I'd  tied  him,  an  had  started  over  to  Grafton,  and  skeered 


Thorndale  Cottage.  75 

me  in  dat  way  nigh  bout  to  death  for  nothin.  I  never 
shall  injore  dat  dog  agin." 

"Well,  Thompson,  you  will  be  more  particular  the 
next  time  you  leave  your  wife  against  her  consent." 

"  Yes,  Master,  for  I  allers  has  bad  luck  when  me  an 
Nancy  disagrees  about  anything." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  parting  of  the  roads. 
Reginald  Vane  turned  aside  to  his  bachelor  home,  and 
the  others  rode  on  to  Ellcsmere. 


76  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

CHAPTER  V. 

ST.    KILDA    RACES. 

"  First  came  the  trumpets  at  whose  clang 

So  late  the  forest  echoes  rang, 

On  prancing  steeds  they  forward  pressed 

"With  scarlet  mantle,  azure  vest; 

Just  in  the  advantageous  glade. 

The  halting  troop  a  iine  had  made 

As  partly  from  the  opposing  shade 

Issued  a  gallant  train."    •  Marmion. 

It  was  now  the  third  day  of  the  races.  The  expected 
presence  of  the  Governor  of  the  State  had  given  unusual 
attraction  to  the  occasion.  The  field  around  the  judges' 
stand  was  early  thronged  with  the  inhabitants  of  the 
valley  and  visitors  from  a  distance.  The  jolly,  good- 
natured  boniface,  who  had  presided  for  so  many  years 
over  the  fortunes  of  the  old  Eustace  Tavern,  declared  he 
had  never  been  so  worried  in  his  attempts  to  accommo- 
date people.  His  honest  face,  usually  wreathed  with 
smiles  of  welcome  for  every  guest,  now  clouded  with 
fresh  trouble  at  each  application  for  shelter.  He  well 
knew  that  his  competitor,  who  kept  the  St.  Kilda  House 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Court-House  square,  had  no 
more  room  than  himself.  This  state  of  affairs  becoming 
known,  the  town  people  and  those  in  the  surrounding 
country  opened  their  hospitable  doors,  and  thus  cared 
for  many  who  would,  otherwise,  have  been  sorely  dis- 
commoded. After  a  hard  and  doubtful  struggle,  the  con- 
test of  the  second  day,  among  the  three  year  old  colts  in 
the  two  mile  heats,  resulted  in  the  success  of  Mason  Som- 
erville's  Ninian.     The  first  day  had  been   consumed  in 


St.  Kilda  Races,  77 

the  inspection  of  the  horses  entered,  and  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  weights  to  be  carried. 

Philip  Ashton  Eustace,  the  Governor  of  the  State,  had 
arrived  at  Ellesmere,  the  evening  he  was  expected,  and 
had  added  unusual  joy  to  the  household.  He  very  much 
resembled  his  mother  in  appearance  and  manner,  and  he, 
with  his  brother,  Col.  Stanhope  Eustace  of  the  United 
States  Army,  were  the  only  issue  of  their  parents.  Miss 
Esther  Stanhope  was  celebrated,  in  her  youth,  for  her 
brilliant  gayety  and  sparkling  repartee.  Her  husband, 
Judge  Eustace,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  model  of  bland ness 
and  simple  dignity.  Gov.  Eustace  had  inherited  the  sun- 
shine and  vivacity  of  his  mother ;  and  wherever  he  came, 
new  life  danced  in  the  eyes,  and  fluttered  in  the  hearts 
around  him.  Even  the  saintly  calm  of  Mariana's  face 
soon  exhibited  little  ripples  of  pleasure,  amid  the  cease- 
less anecdote  and  raillery  of  his  conversation.  He  was 
wanting  in  the  tireless  application  and  passionless  judg- 
ment of  his  father ;  but  in  law  cases,  which  aroused  his 
indignation  or  contempt  as  an  advocate,  he  was  peerless 
and  unapproachable.  For  hours,  great  multitudes  would 
hang  in  breathless  attention  on  his  impassioned  utter- 
ance. His  invective  was  scathing ;  and  as  his  hearers 
became  excited  and  lost  in  its  splendor,  he  could  at 
will  fall  into  such  pathos  that  strong  men  were  often  seen 
to  weep  at  his  bidding.  When  there  was  occasion  for  it, 
his  humor  would  riot  in  the  most  redundant  and  ex- 
quisite ridicule,  and  many  a  man  was  laughed  out  of 
countenance,  who,  by  some  unlucky  blunder,  had  be- 
come amenable  to  his  merciless  wit. 

At  an  early  hour,  the  carriages  with  the  ladies  set  out 
from  Ellesmere.     Gov.  Eustace  prevailed  on  his  mother 


78  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

and  Mariana  to  accompany  hira.  St.  George,  Kean,  and 
Philip,  were,  as  usual,  on  horseback.  The  race  course 
was  on  the  edge  of  a  large  wood  two  miles  from  the  vil- 
lage. Several  buildings  had  been  constructed  for  the 
purpose  of  exhibition  ;  for  the  races  were  only  a  part  of 
the  attraction.  Live  stock  and  agricultural  improve- 
ments occupied  the  day,  while  balls  and  festivity  con- 
sumed much  of  the  night. 

Loud  and  prolonged  cheers  announced  the  arrival  of 
the  Governor  on  the  field,  and  testified  to  his  popularity 
among  the  people.  Many  of  his  friends  came  up  to  wel- 
come him  to  his  native  vale;  and  soon  the  cries  of  the 
multitude  compelled  him  to  make  them  a  speech.  He 
did  this  in  his  characteristic  style,  warmly  felicitating 
himself  on  the  privilege  he  was  enjoying,  of  meeting  so 
many  of  his  clearest  and  oldest  friends,  and  deprecating 
his  own  folly  in  being  so  much  of  his  time  absent  from 
them.  ''  My  dear  friends,"  said  he,  "  the  sweetest  dream 
of  my  life,  for  the  last  ten  years,  has  been  the  prospect  of 
speedy  return  to  St.  Kilda  Valley.  But  your  great  and 
repeated  honors  have  made  mean  unwilling  exile.  When 
I  behold  these  noble  mountains  around  us,  and  remem- 
ber my  happiness  in  this  valley  in  early  life,  I  can  but 
wonder  at  my  consenting  to  live  elsewhere.  But  dear 
friends,  I  am  only  a  man,  and  am  honest  to  confess,  that 
ambition  and  the  love  of  your  applause  have  caused  me 
to  forego  the  enjoyment  I  should  have  experienced  in 
your  company.  I  have  been  long  desiring  to  come  home, 
and  live  a  quiet  citizen  among  you  ;  but  the  repeated 
evidences  of  trust  and  confidence,  on  the  part  of  the  peo- 
ple of  this  State,  have  acted  as  a  counter-charm  to  this 
inclination.     A  little  incident  in  my  last  canvass  so  forci- 


St.  Kilda  Races.  79 

bly  illustrates  this  double-mindedness  on  my  part,  that 
I  will  tell  yon  the  story.  I  was  travelling,  and,  at  mid- 
day, called  at  a  small  house  on  the  road-side,  to  get  food 
for  myself  and  horses.  I  found  no  one  in  the  house,  but 
hearing  a  scuffle  on  the  back  porch,  I  there  found  a  large 
woman  with  the  head  of  a  small,  sandy-haired  man  closely 
confined  under  her  arm,  while  9he  unmercifully  bela- 
bored him  with  her  fist.  'Hillo,'  said  I,  '  who  keeps 
house  here?'  She  did  not  release  him,  but  he  turning  his 
head  so  as  to  get  sight  of  me,  exclaimed,  '  Hang  it  all, 
stranger,  that  is  the  very  thing  I  and  my  wife  are  trying 
to  decide.'  I  have  had  as  much  difficulty  as  this  perse- 
cuted individual  in  making  up  my  mind  ;  but  I  can  pro- 
mise vou  all  that  I  shall  soon  come  back  to  St.  Kilda, 
from  whose  dear  limits  I  should  never  have  departed  to 
pursue  the  empty  phantoms,  which,  at  best,  are  the  only 
rewards  of  political  success,  had  I  not  believed  it  my 
duty  to  surrender  my  own  pleasure  to  the  public  good." 

"  Mason  Somerville,"  said  the  Governor  to  his  former 
law  partner,  as  he  descended  from  the  judges'  stand,  "  is 
it  possible  you  have  assumed  so  venerable  a  habit  as  the 
wearing  of  spectacles  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  the  mills  of  the  gods  grind  slowly  but 
surely  ;  and  I  find,  though  I  have  been,  in  all  conscience, 
lazy  enough  through  life,  at  the  age  of  forty-five  my  eye- 
sight is  such  that  I  am  compelled  to  use  glasses." 

"  You  should  somewhat  relax  the  severity  of  your  study. 
It  is  well  known  that  we  are  of  the  same  age,  and  people 
will  be  saving  that  Ashton  Eustace  is  also  one  of  the 
ancients." 

"  No  danger  of  that,  Governor,"  said  he.  "  You  are 
as  young  in  spirit,  at  least,  as  you  were  the  day  you 


80  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

worried  Counsellor  Tatem  so  much  about  his  brief  in  the 
case  of  Roberts  vs.  Jones." 

"  How  was  that,  Mr.  Somerville?"  asked  Percival  St. 
George.     "I  never  heard  the  story." 

"The  Counsellor  was  a  strange  man,"  said  Mr.  Somer- 
ville. "  With  moderate  capacity,  he  managed,  by  his 
assiduous  attention  to  his  cases  and  his  marvelous  ac- 
quaintance with  the  prejudices  and  temperament  of 
every  juror  in  the  county,  to  make  himself  a  sine  qua  non 
in  every  case  in  which  much  depended  on  the  complexion 
of  the  jury.  In  the  cause  I  refer  to,  he  had  been  re- 
tained by  Jones,  and  had,  as  usual,  carefully  set  down 
everything  in  his  brief  that  he  wished  to  say.  He  had 
commenced  his  remarks  in  opening  the  case  for  the  de- 
fense, and  having  to  read  an  authority  to  the  court,  he 
laid  it  down.  As  he  did  so,  Eustace  picked  it  up  unob- 
served by  Tatem,  and,  adding  something  to  the  brief,  put 
it  back  in  its  place.  The  counsellor,  never  sus* 
pecting  a  joke,  took  up  his  brief  to  look  for  his  next 
point,  and  closely  scrutinizing  the  paper — for  he  was  very 
near-sighted — he  very  confidently  remarked:  fIn  the 
next  place,  may  it  please  the  court,  this  action  does  not 
lie,  but  I  do.'  This  singular  announcement  was  followed 
by  sounds  of  ill-suppressed  laughter,  in  which  the  judge 
himself  was  forced  to  join  the  bar  and  spectators.  Old 
Tatem  fanned  it  into  unspeakable  disorder,  on  seeing  the 
joke  too  late.  He  turned  around  and  solemnly  remark- 
ed :  '  I'll  be  hanged  if  that  ain't  some  of  Eustace's  work.' ' 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Gov.  Eustace.  "  The  old  gentleman 
came  very  near  calling  me  out  for  that ;  but  I  recollect 
another  occasion  on  which,  when  I  was  solicitor  for  the 
State,  he  was  still  more  angry  with  me.     He  was  retained 


St.  Kilda  Races.  81 

by  one  of  a  large  party  indicted  for  an  affray.  The  other 
defendants  submitted,  and  it  was  a  plain  case  against 
Tatem's  client;  but  the  counsellor  was  never  known  to 
surrender  a  case,  and  in  this  instance  was  true  to  his  habit 
of  making  a  long  speech,  in  a  very  barren,  hopeless  cause. 
He  attempted  to  make  the  jury  believe  that  I  was  desirous 
of  punishing,  with  undue  severity,  his  particular  client. 
When  I  came  to  reply,  I  told  the  jury  I  should  detain 
them  but  a  short  time,  as  I  thought  my  brother  Tatem, 
in  his  long  speech,  had  caused  them  to  forget  much  of 
the  testimony.  I  then  recited  the  leading  incidents  de- 
posed to,  until  I  reached  a  point  in  the  evidence  where  it 
appeared  that  Tatem's  client,  having  become  worsted  in 
the  fight,  had  ingloriously  fled  the  field.  In  conclusion,, 
I  then  remarked  that  it  seemed  from  the  testimony  that 
the  defendant.  Blaylock,  letting  his  discretion  get  the  bet- 
ter of  his  valor,  had  left  the  scene  of  conflict  in  such  ter- 
ror, that  I  had  but  little  doubt  if  his  windage  was-  equal 
to  that  of  his  counsel  he  was  running  up  to  that  time. 
Tatem  arose  in  a  rage,  and  swore  he  would  not  submit  to 
such  unprofessional  remarks :.  but  we  soon  laughed  him 
into  a  good  humor." 

"Gentlemen,"  continued  the  governor,    "suppose  we 
look  at  the  horses  before  the  race  comes  off." 

Several  of  the  beautiful  animals  were  near  by,  and 
seemed  impatient  of  the  delay  that  kept  them  from  the 
exciting  contest.  St.  George's  horse,  Hildebrand,  in 
the  majestic  symmetry  of  his  large  frame,  the  beauty 
and  evident  power  of  his  muscular  development,  and  the 
splendid  record  of  continuous  triumphs,  was  the  lion 
of  the  day.  Near  him  stood  Tempest  and  Orion,  and, 
a  little  farther  on  Mr.  Compton's  imported  Pepin ;  close; 
6 


82  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

to  him  were  Col.  Ridgely's  Clifton  and  Vane's  horse,  Red- 
gauntlet.  Frank.  Peyton's  Sea-foam,  a  beautiful,  creamy 
white,  was  much  admired,  but  not  in  high  favor.  Musi- 
dora  and  Tarelton  belonged  to  parties  outside  of  the 
valley.  Of  the  thirteen  nominations  only  these  came  to 
the  post. 

An  equipage  of  unusual  beauty,  drawn  by  a  span  of 
:high-stepping  grays,  passed  the  judges'  stand,  and  drew 
np  in  front  of  the  building  used  as  a  reception  hall  for 
'the  ladies.  Frederick  Compton  stood  near  by,  and  assis- 
ted Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Rosamond  as  they  left  the  car- 
riage. The  young  heiress  of  Thorndale  looked  in  vain  for 
Philip.  He,  true  to  his  name — horse-lover — mounted  on 
Black  Sultan,  in  company  with  Kean,  was  riding  about 
the  grounds,  pointing  out  the  prominent  characters 
among  the  men  and  animals.  He  was  too  much  engrossed 
in  the  pending  race  to  think  of  any  thing  not  in  some 
way  connected  therewith. 

"  There  go  Col.  Ridgely  and  Mr.  Frank.  Peyton,  the  two 
magnates  of  the  Hawkshead  neighborhood,"  said  Philip. 
"  That  black-roan  the  colonel  is  riding  is  a  half  brother 
•of  Sultan.  The  colonel  is  a  great  horseman  and  thinks 
nothing  of  the  hill-side  fence  at  Satan's  Nose.  Mr.  Peyton 
is  also  a  sportsman,  but  grandfather  does  not  esteem  him 
highly,  since  he  advocated  the  rescinding  of  the  rule 
requiring  persons  making  entries  of  their  horses  to  pledge 
themselves  against  side-bets." 

"  All  betting  is  then  forbidden  on  the  field  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  the  only  thing  that  can  be  won  by  the 
owner  of  the  successful  horse  is  the  large  silver  cup  which 
is   always  of  the  value  of  five  hundred  dollars.     Each 


St.  KMa  Races.  S3 

man  entering  his  horse  pays  one  hundred  dollars  for  the 
privilege  in  the  four  mile  heats,  and  fifty  in  the  two." 

"  But  there  are  thirteen  entries ;  what  becomes  of  the 
unappropriated  eight  hundred  dollars?" 

"  The  trustees  apply  it  toward  keeping  the  buildings 
and  race  course  in  order." 

It  was  now  half  past  one,  by  the  clock,  and  the  jockeys 
having  received  their  orders  from  the  judges,  the  course 
was  cleared.  The  horses  moved  up  nearly  in  a  line,  and 
at  the  president's  signal,  the  race  commenced.  Red- 
gauntlet  and  Pepin  got  under  way  at  once,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  Hildebrand,  Tempest,  Orion,  Clifton,  and  the 
others.  Vane  and  Compton  ordered  their  horses  to 
be  taken  in  hand.  St.  George  and  Philip  saw  no 
necessity  for  interfering  with  their  riders,  as  they  were 
both  bearing  well  upon  the  mouths  of  their  noble  coursers. 
Orion  and  Clifton  thus  passed  to  the  front,  and  remained 
there  for  the  next  half  mile.  As  they  were  nearing  the 
close  of  the  first  mile,  Hildebrand's  jockey  received  orders 
to  let  him  go.  Tempest  lay  just  ahead,  and  Pepin  a  little 
in  advance  of  him.  As  St.  George's  magnificent  horse 
felt  the  spurs  in  his  side,  he  sprang  forward  like  a  cannon 
shot,  and  put  new  life  into  Tempest,  who,  now  for  the 
first  time,  exhibited  that  glorious  speed  which  could  only 
be  equalled  by  his  admirable  endurance.  Hildebrand 
slowly  gained  upon  him  for  one  hundred  yards,  when 
Tempest,  getting  a  fresh  taste  of  steel  and  cat-gut,  lay 
along  side  so  doggedly  that  though  Pepin  was  passed  and 
beaten  by  a  half  length  at  the  end  of  the  first  mile,  no 
one  could  say  which  of  the  other  two  horses  was  in 
advance. 

Redgauntlet  had,  in  the   mean  while,  bolted  as  usual. 


84  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

The  next  mile  was  passed  over  at  a  terrific  pace,  but 
Pepin's  rider,  having  received  fresh  orders  to  hold  hard, 
he  was  imitated  by  the  other  jockeys  who  well  knew  that 
the  Englishman  was  husbanding  his  resources.  They 
had  again  got  under  full  headway,  and  were  coming  at  a 
splendid  rate,  when  St.  George's  hitherto  unconquered 
veteran  was  observed  to  falter  in  his  career,  and  the  cry 
was  raised  "  Hildebrand  has  let  down." 

There  was  much  disappointment  among  the  spectators 
on  learning  this  sad  misfortune  to  the  great  racer.  The 
people  of  the  valley  felt  that  his  reputation  was  a  thing 
that  reflected  honor  on  the  whole  community.  His 
prowess  had  been  long  the  theme  of  admiring  thousands, 
not  only  there,  but  on  many  a  distant  race-course;  and 
now  when  he  was  bearing  himself  so  splendidly  in  this 
great  contest  against  the  imported  horse,  to  be  stricken 
in  a  moment  powerless,  was  something  indeed  mournful 
to  contemplate.  While  many  were  shedding  tears  at  this 
disaster  to  Hildebrand,  onward  swept  the  flying  coursers 
who  still  kept  their  distance  on  the  field.  These  were 
Tempest,  Pepin,  Orion,  and  Clifton.  The  others  had 
been  reined  up  and  withdrawn.  As  the  horses  approached 
the  termination  of  the  fourth  mile,  a  rate  of  speed  was 
attained  that  called  forth  most  rapturous  applause.  By 
tremendous  exertion,  Tempest  out-footed  his  competitors, 
and  won  the  heat,  beating  Pepin  by  half  a  length. 
Philip  caressed  the  noble  animal  in  his  rapturous  de- 
light, but  the  second  heat  was  yet  to  be  run,  and  the 
English  horse,  in  his  untamed  prowess,  reminded  him 
that  the  laurel  of  victory  might  yet  be  plucked  from  his 
brow. 

Tempest  and  Pepin  exhibited  but  little  distress  after 


St.  Kilda  Races.  85 

their  prodigious  exertions,  and  cooled  off  readily.  At 
the  lapse  of  the  half  hour  of  breathing  time,  they  came 
back  to  the  contest,  apparently  as  fresh  as  if  they  had 
been  brought  out  of  their  stables  for  the  first  time  that 
day.  Undaunted  spirit  was  seen  in  their  flashing  eyes 
and  lofty  carriage,  and  a  shout  of  involuntary  admiration 
burst  from  the  assembled  multitude.  All  except  Tempest 
and  Pepin  were  now  withdrawn,  and  at  the  word  both 
horses  started  as  in  the  commencement  of  the  first  heat. 
Pepin  at  once  set  off  at  full  speed,  followed  by  the  long, 
steady  stroke  of  Tempest,  which  soon  shortened  the  gap 
thus  put  between  them.  Toward  the  end  of  the  first 
mile  the  pace  increased  into  a  gait  that  told  the  leader  he 
must  go  faster  if  he  kept  his  place  at  the  front.  Pepin, 
however,  passed  the  mile-post  a  little  in  advance,  and 
away  they  went  gradually  approaching  each  other  until 
Tempest,  getting  an  intimation  that  more  was  expected 
of  him,  rallied  to  such  a  degree  that  he  speedily  called 
on  his  antagonist,  and  by  the  time  they  had  made  the 
second  mile,  was  a  clear  length  ahead.  The  loud  and 
irrepressible  cheer  that  broke  spontaneously  from  the 
spectators  sent  both  horses  into  such  a  flight  that  their 
jockeys  wisely  forbore  urging  the  gallant  animals  until 
nearing  the  last  stretch. 

Whips  and  spurs  again  came  into  full  play.  Never 
was  there  witnessed  a  grander  display  of  the  endurance 
and  power  of  the  blood-horse  than  these  unflinching 
champions  of  two  hemispheres  now  afforded.  With  tire- 
less stride  and  eyes  of  flame  they  sprang  from  the  inflic- 
tion of  the  cruel  punishment.  No  one  could  say  who 
would  win  until  Tempest,  seeming  to  understand  that 
the  crisis  was  upon  him,  broke  away  into  a  fresh  burst  of 


86  The  Valley  of  St  Kilda. 

speed    which    carried    him    out   a    winner  by  two  good 
lengths. 

The  great  victory  was  won,  and  Philip,  in  a  transport 
of  joy,  threw  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  his  horse  and 
petted  him  like  a  lamb.  The  mighty  stallion,  quivering 
with  fatigue  after  his  prodigious  exertions,  now  hung  his 
head  to  be  fondled  by  the  proud  and  gratified  master. 

"Here,  uncle  Thompson,  take  good  care  of  Tempest," 
said  Philip.  "I  must  now  look  for  cousin  Percy  and 
Hildebrand,"  and  he  rode  off  to  a  large  tree  beneath 
which  St.  George  had  caused  his  disabled  horse  to  be  car- 
ried.    As  soon  as  Philip  came  near,  Percival  exclaimed  : 

"  Did  Tempest  keep  his  ground  on  the  last  stretch  ?" 

"  Splendidly,"  said  Philip,  "  and  beat  Pepin  by  two 
lengths." 

"  Thank  heaven  for  that,"  said  Percival.  "  Hildebrand 
is  forever  undone.  He  has  let  down  in  his  right,  hind 
leg."" 

"  Poor  Hildebrand  I  I  almost  regret  the  success  of 
Tempest,  obtained  at  such  a  cost.  I  believe  your  horse 
would  have  come  out  of  the  race  victorious  as  ever  but 
for  this  accident." 

"That  is  very  doubtful,  for  Tempest  and  Pepin  were 
both  along-side  when  he  let  down." 

"Allow  me  to  extend  my  sincere  condolence,  Mr.  St. 
George,"  said  Arthur  Kean,  as  he  rode  up  "  I  am  most 
deeply  pained  at  this  sad  accident  to  your  horse." 

"  It  is  very  deplorable  to  have  so  fine  an  animal  ruin- 
ed," said  Percival. 

"  Will  there  be  no  hope  of  his  recovery  ?" 

"  He  can  never  be  strong  enough  for  the  turf  again," 
said  St.  George.    "  Lewis>  as  soon  as  the  crowd  leaves  the- 


St.  Kilda  Races.  87 

stables,  get  him  there,  and  do  not  suffer  people  to  ap- 
proach near  enough  to  fret  him.  Philip,  they  will  soon 
be  ready  at  the  audience-hall  to  give  you  the  goblet 
Tempest  has  so  nobly  won  to  day.  I  should  have  been 
inconsolable  about  Hildebrand  if  that  English  horse  had 
beaten  our  St.  Kilda  stock." 

They  rode  off  in  the  direction  of  the  judges'  stand,  and 
as  they  passed  the  boys  from  the  village,  having  collected 
in  a  group,  gave  three  lusty  cheers  for  Phil.  Eustace  and 
Tempest.  Philip  calmly  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed.  Gov. 
Eustace,  with  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Rosamond,  were  watch- 
ing their  approach  when  this  happened. 

"  See  the  coolness  of  that  youngster,"  said  the  Governor. 
"  He  takes  that  applause  as  if  he  were  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington reviewing  a  division  of  English  troops." 

"Philip  is,  certainly,  very  self  possessed  for  one  so 
young,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay. 

Rosamond  sighed  inaudibly  as  they  turned  their  horses 
in  a  different  direction.  Philip  was  exultant  at  Temp- 
est's victory,  and  he  wished  to  find  Mariana,  well  know- 
ing that  any  great  joy  of  his  conferred  pleasure  on  her 
sympathetic  nature.  He  immediately  longed  for  her 
presence  when  he  felt  any  unusual  happiness.  One  of 
the  chief  elements  of  this  great  satisfaction  consisted  in 
the  fact  that  the  Comptons  were  again  beaten.  They 
were  a  new  family  in  the  valley,  and  the  head  of  the 
house  on  many  occasions  seemed  to  attempt  a  rivalry  of 
the  family  at  Ellesmere. 

Mr.  Compton  had  been  Ashton  Eustace's  early  competi- 
tor for  the  legislative  honors  of  the  county,  and,  in  many 
things,  it  was  evident  that  while  nothing  ill-natured 
transpired,  the  Comptons  unceasingly  labored  to  neutral- 


88  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

ize  the  influence  of  that  house,  whose  talents,  virtues  and 
wealth  made  it  supreme  in  the  valley.  The  ex-chief- 
justice  was  too  indifferent  to  popular  applause  to  care 
much  for  these  things,  and  while  Philip  scorned  to  take 
an  unfair  advantage,  he  yet  gloried  in  over-reaching  his 
rivals.  The  capture  of  the  red  fox  was  keenly  enjoyed, 
because  William  Compton  and  his  sou  had  repeatedly 
failed  to  take  him.  This  new  triumph  over  the  horse 
which  had  been  specially  imported  from  England  to 
eclipse  Hildebrand,  was  enough  to  have  stirred  the  pulses 
of  one  older  and  more  coldblooded  than  Philip.  At 
length  he  found  his  grandmother  and  Mariana  in  a 
quiet  spot,  apart  from  the  crowd. 

"See,  the  conquering  hero  comes!"  said  Mrs.  Eustace. 
"  Philip,  is  not  this  glory  enough  for  one  day  ?" 

"  Yes,  grandma,  if  Mariana  could  have  seen  how  Tem- 
pest bore  himself,  and  had  Hildebrand  escaped  the  acci- 
dent that  so  rudely  closes  his  career,  I  should  now  be 
supremely  happy.  Mariana,  where  were  you  when  the 
races  were  going  on  ?" 

"  We  came  here,  brother;  Oh  I  am  so  shocked  at  the 
accident  of  poor  Hildebrand.  How  does  Cousin  Percy 
bear  it?" 

"  By  careful  attention,  he  hopes  to  get  him  on  his  feet 
again  ;  but  his  racing  career  is  closed  forever.  The  ten- 
dons of  his  leg  are  so  much  stretched,  that  his  pastern 
joint  touches  the  ground." 

"  I  cannot  think  it  right  to  prolong  the  exertion  of  the 
horses  to  such  an  extent  as  to  cause  such  a  cruel  mishap," 
said  Mariana.  "  I  remember  Hildebrand  well,  he  was  so 
beautiful  when  I  saw  him  last." 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  sister.     Horses  of  great  en- 


St.  Kilda  Races.  89 

durance  are  valuable  to  civilians,  and  all-important  to 
military  men;  and  to  encourage  the  production  of  such 
stock  are  these  long  races  favored.  Where  is  Rosamond  ? 
I  have  not  seen  her." 

"  She  has  been  expecting  you  ail  day  ;  of  course  she 
cannot  come  to  you." 

"Philip,  fearing  that  his  cousin  might  feel  hurt,  went 
off  in  quest  of  her.  He  found  her  still  walking  with  his 
father  and  her  mother. 

My  liege-lady,"  said  he,  smiling,  "I  have  come  to 
acknowledge  my  delinquency." 

"  You  have  a  very  truant  disposition,  sir,  and  your 
greetings  have  been  very  slow  in  reaching  us." 

"  You  will  congratulate  me  on  my  good  fortune  to- 
day ?" 

Oh,  assuredly,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  have  been  excusing 
your  absence  already,  as  I  knew  you  were  so  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  the  race.  Tempest  is  such  a  wonderful  horse, 
I  can  understand  the  interest  you  take  in  him.  I  fear 
that  Frederick  Compton  will  be  positively  unpleasant 
now." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  has  asked  me  a  host  of  questions  about  the 
fox  chase.  He  was  confident  that  Pepin  would  lead  the 
field.  What  are  they  ringing  that  bell  for?  I  see  the 
people  are  going  to  the  audience^hall.'' 

"  It  is  summoning  me  to  receive  the  meed  of  Tempest's 
victory.  The  vase  is  very  beautiful  this  year.  Will  you 
accorapan}7  me?" 

"  I  fear  it  will  render  me  too  conspicuous.''" 

"  I  will  not  take  you  to  a  position  where  you  will  at- 


90  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

tract  more  attention  than  your  sweet,   dark   eyes  would 
elsewhere  in  the  room." 

"  Philip,  if  you  are  honest,  I  thank  you,  but  I  well 
know  that  I  am  plain.  Oh,  how  often  have  I  wished 
for  beauty  like  Mariana's,  so  I  could  always  keep  you 
half-mad  for  loving  me,"  said  the  passionate  girl,  and  the 
glow  of  affection  in  her  fine  eyes  made  them  as  beautiful 
as  she  could  have  wished. 

They  entered  the  hall,  and  many  a  heart,  manly  and 
true,  could  but  envy  Philip  the  singular  good  fortune  that 
seemed  in  most  things  to  crown  his  efforts.  Born  to 
the  enjoyment  of  large  wealth,  he  was  idolized  by  father 
and  grandfather ;  and  Percival  St.  George, too,had  avowed 
his  intention  of  making  him  the  heir  of  the  principal 
portion  of  his  wealth.  It  was  generally  known  also  that 
Rosamond  Courtenay  warmly  seconded  the  wishes  of  all 
branches  of  the  family,  that  she  should  bestow  upon  him 
her  hand  together  with  the  great  estates  of  Thorndale 
and  Hamillies  And  now  he  was  the  victor  in  a  contest 
that,  by  long  usage  among  the  gentlemen  of  the  valley, 
had  come  to  be  looked  upon  with  as  much  interest,  as  did 
the  ancient  Greeks  upon  the  Olympic  games.  Philip 
carried  Rosamond  to  a  seat  by  her  mother,  and  then  re- 
received  from  the  hands  of  his  grandfather,  who  was 
president  of  the  club,  the  large  and  richly-chased  vase 
of  silver.  It  was  sculptured  with  a  representation  of  the 
battle  between  the  Centaurs  and  Lapithae,  at  the  marri- 
age of  Pirithous  and  Hippodamia. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Gov.  Eustace,  "  that  this  early  success 
will  give  my  son  an  undue  fonduess  for  the  race  course, 
but  the  regulations  are  so  admirable  here,  he  will  not,  at 
this  place,  contract  the  pernicious  habit  of  betting." 


St.  Kilda    Races.  91 

"  I  do  not  think  that  Philip  can  ever  descend  so  low 
as  to  become  a  mere  gambler,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay. 
"  He  has  too  much  devotion  to  principle  ;  I  never  knew 
a  boy  who  exhibited  so  much  reverence  for  the  teachings 
of  those  he  ought  to  obey." 

"  Weil,  father,"  said  Philip,  coming  up  with  his  vase 
in  his  hands,  "  here  is  my  second  trophy  in  the  last  six 
days  ;  but,  with  all  the  eclat  of  its  attainment,  I  enjoyed 
beating  the  field  in  the  fox  chase  more  than  this  much- 
coveted  honor.  Rosamond,  the  marriage  of  the  Lapithae, 
amplified  in  your  usual  style,  will  enchain  the  attention 
of  Mariana  and  myself  fur  a  j;ood  hour." 

The  evening  soon  wore  into  night.  The  moon  stole 
up  into  the  quiet  heavens,  and  the  eternal  stars  wrere  all 
out  in  their  unchanging  glory.  The  gentle  south-wind 
sighed  amid  the  trees  of  the  forest,  stirring  the  leaves 
without  disturbing  the  birds  fast  asleep  in  the  wide- 
spreading  branches.  The  sounds  of  joyous  music  rolled 
voluptuously  on  the  night  air,  through  the  open  doors  of 
the  great  ball  room.  The  pride  and  beauty  of  St.  Kilda 
Valley  were  collected  in  the  flowing  light,  and  beautiful 
forms  were  floating  in  the  dance.  Swift  glances,  convey- 
ing a  world  of  meaning,  were  flashing  from  many 
bright  eyes.  Gratified  parents  were  watching  the  sylph- 
like movements  of  their  daughters,  or  resting  with  pride 
on  the  stately  forms  of  their  sons.  Philip  had  com- 
menced the  pleasures  of  the  evening  with  Rosamond,  but 
was  now  dancing  with  Ida  Somerville.  They  had  long 
been  friends ;  for  she  was  frequently  with  his  sister  at 
Ellesmere. 

"  Ida,"  said  Philip,  "you  are  looking  uncommonly  well 


92  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

to-night.  If  you  grow  much  prettier,  I  shall  be  losing 
my  heart." 

"  Oh,  you  sinner,  Philip,"  answered  the  girl,  "to  speak 
of  loving  any  but  Rosamond  Courtenay !" 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  very  much  in  love  with  Rosa- 
mond." 

"  You  ought  to  be,  for  she  is  all  devotion  to  you. 
Philip,  it  is  not  right  for  you  to  be  making  love  to 
other  girls,  for  I  know  it  makes  Rosamond  unhappy." 

"  But  how  can  I  forbear,  when  they  are  so  beautiful  as 
yourself,  fairest  Ida  ?" 

"That  is  all  gammon.  You  can  help  it.  Any  one 
can  restrain  his  feelings.  I  can  esteem  a  gentleman  ever 
so  much,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  I  must  love  where 
I  admire." 

"  That  is  very  much  the  case  with  you  ladies,  but  not 
so  with  me.  I  cannot  admire  a  beautiful  woman  without 
loving  her  a  little.  I  am  not  very  apt  to  break  my  heart, 
I  admit,  with  the  depth  of  the  attachment." 

"  Yes,  you  feel  a  slight  fancy  for  a  girl,  and  forthwith 
make  love  to  her;  the  week  after  she  is  probably  forgot- 
ten. Philip,  at  our  age  all  love-making  is  mere  pastime  ; 
but  when  you  have  grown  to  be  a  man,  I  know  you 
will  be  too  honorable  to  do  or  say  anything  calculated  to 
produce  a  false  impression.  You  will  be  possessed  of  so 
many  attractions,  that  it  will  be  the  greater  wrong  in 
you.  The  high  social  position  of  your  family,  the  great 
wealth  you  will  inherit,  and  your  own  personal  advant- 
ages, will  be  sure  to  make  you  a  shining  figure  in  society. 
So  now,  as  one  of  your  best  friends,  let  me  ask  vou  not  to 
abuse  the  power  you  possess,  and  cease  making  love  to 
girls  in  mere  jest," 


St.  Kilda   Races.  93 

"I  agree  with  you,  Ida,  but  what  a  speech  you  have 
made !  On  my  word,  I  shall  stop  making  love  to  you  if 
you  read  me  such  lectures." 

"  Come  here,  Rosamond,  and  take  Philip  to  task,"  said 
Ida,  as  the  young  heiress  of  Thorndale  was  passing. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Philip?"  said  Rosamond. 

"I  was  only  telling  Ida  she  is  so  beautiful  that  I  can 
but  love  her  a  little  ;  but  she  has  read  me  sucli  a  lecture 
on  flirtations  that  I  am  half-disgusted  with  all  my  fine 
speeches  to  such  a  prosy  little  woman.  Do  you  not  think 
it  a  poor  return  for  all  my  gallantry,  to  be  told  that  I 
should  confine  such  remarks  to  yourself?" 

"  He  is  so  liberal  in  complimenting  me,  I  can  afford 
to  let  him  indulge  a  little  in  the  same  strain  to  other 
girls  ;  but  remember,  Philip,  it  must  be  on  rare  occasions 
that  you  do  such  things;  for  I  claim  as  a  right  that  the 
most  gallant  of  your  speeches  be  reserved  for  myself." 

Still  onward  rolled  the  joyous  tide  of  the  dancers. 
Flute,  violin  and  bassoon  added  their  inspiring  notes  to 
the  pleasure  which  was  apparent  in  so  many  faces.  Regi- 
nald Vane  had  been  assiduous  in  his  attentions,  all  the 
evening,  to  Helen  Temple  ;  and  from  appearances  it 
would  seem  the  wedding  that  Thompson  had  so  patiently 
awaited,  would  soon  be  consummated.  Percival  St. 
George  was  present ;  and  Kean  knowing  the  story  of  his 
lost  love,  observed  his  noble  figure  as  he  passed  about 
among  the  belles.  Every  eye  brightened  at  his  approach, 
for  he  was  still  by  far  the  handsomest  man  in  the  assem- 
bly. Beautiful  women  assumed  their  most  engaging 
manner,  but  the  memory  of  the  daughter  of  beauty  and 
heaven-born  genius  was  fresh  in  his  heart,  and  he  who 
brought  happiness  to  others,  was  all  the  while  wishing 


94  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

himself  away  in  the  solitude  of  Vaucluse,  or  the  home 
circle  at  Ellesmere.  Judge  Eustace  had  left  with  Mariana 
early  in  the  evening.  His  wife  had  been  prevailed  upon 
by  her  son  to  remain  until  a  later  hour.  She  was  sitting 
in  the  moonlight  that  streamed  through  a  window  when 
St.  George,  approaching  her,  remarked  :  "I  shall  be  at 
your  service  aunt,  if  you  desire  leaving  before  the  gov- 
ernor is  reaclw" 

"Sit  down,  Percival,  you  have  that  same  weary  look 
even  here.  Can  you  find  no  pleasure  in  the  company  of 
all  these  beautiful  girls?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  but  I  soon  tire  of  any  but  the  dear 
familiar  faces  around  your  fireside,  and  the  one  face  I 
see  best  at  Vaucluse." 

"  Dear  Percy,  why  do  you  cling  so  close  to  that  lost 
image  ?  Why  make  yourself  unhappy  amid  all  that  gaiety 
we  see  around  us  ?" 

"  If  I  look  unhappy,  aunt,  I  belie  my  feelings.  For 
years,  the  memory  of  my  loss  was  always  poignant,  but 
it  is  not  the  case  now.  It  has  disqualified  me  for  any- 
thing like  broad  mirth  ;  yet  I  enjoy  many  of  the  pleas- 
ures I  see  around  me.  'The  loss  of  a  great  hope  is  like 
the  setting  of  the  sun.  The  stars  come  forth  and  the 
night  is  holy.'" 

Governor  Eustace  now  approached  and  announced  his 
readiness  to  leave.  An  hour  later  the  hall  had  become 
the  abode  of  silence.  Darkness  had  usurped  the  scene  of 
late  festivity.  The  lights  and  music  were  all  gone.  The 
latest  whisper  of  love  had  died  into  an  echo.  The  center 
of  so  much  mirth  and  happiness  was  now  a  type  and 
emblem  of  that  noisy  human  life  which  frets  out  its  brief 
hour  upon  the  stage,  and  then  swiftly  glides  into  dark- 


St.   Kilda   Races.  95 

ness  and  oblivion.  The  autumn  breeze  murmured 
amid  the  trees,  and  the  stars  looked  down  as  brightly  as 
they  did  upon  Adam  in  paradise.  Oh,  empty  and  fleet- 
ing stay  of  human  joy  !  Oh,  serene  and  eternal  Omnipo- 
tence that  sees  and  pities  its  frailty! 


96  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FIRESIDE    CONVERSATIONS. 

"  Let  Winter  come !  let  polar  spirits  sweep 
The  darkning  world  and  tempest-troubled  deep! 
Yet  shall  the  smile  of  social  love  repay, 
With  mental  light,  the  melancholy  day ! 
And,  when  its  short  and  sullen  noon  is  o'er 
The  ice-chain'd  waters  slumbering  on  the  shore, 
How  bright  the  fagots  in  his  little  hall 
Blaze  on  the  hearth,  and  warm  the  pictured  wall?" 

Pleasures  of  Hope. 

The  St.  Kilda  races  were  over.  The  visitors  of  Elles- 
rnere  had  returned  to  their  homes,  pleased  with  the 
gracious  hospitality.  The  day  had  been  lowering  and 
promising  rain,  but  the  weather  was  sufficiently  open  to 
allow  the  departure  of  the  last  family  late  in  the  even- 
ing. Gov.  Eustace  still  remained  with  his  parents.  As 
the  sun,  which  had  been  visible  for  a  few  minutes  previ- 
ous to  his  final  disappearance  for  the  day,  sank  behind 
the  mountains,  the  wind  veered  to  the  north-west  and 
commenced  blowing  a  gale.  Dense  masses  of  cloud  came 
sweeping  up  from  behind  Sorrell's  Peak  and  Satan's  No^e 
until  the  moon,  which  had  been  struggling  with  fitful 
light,  became  totally  eclipsed  in  the  pervading  gloom. 
The  silenced  whippoorwill  shrank  cowering  to  the  foliage 
of  the  densest  thicket,  and  the  two  stag-hounds,  Tweed 
and  Troubadour,  that  slept  on  the  front  porch,  arose 
and  listened  to  the  wail  of  the  coming  storm,  as  it  moaned 
and  sobbed  amid  the  branches  of  the  tossing  trees.  One 
of  them  stretched  himself,  and,  howling  a  dismal  expres- 
sion of  disapprobation  at  being  thus  disturbed  after  hav- 


Fireside  Conversations.  97 

ing  settled  for  the  night,  walked  off  to  find  more  comfort- 
able quarters.  Deep,  bellowing  peals  of  thunder  re- 
verberated through  the  mountains,  occasionally  illum- 
inated by  the  glare  of  lightning,  while  big,  sullen  drops 
of  rain  gave  notice  that,  even  then,  the  storm,  with  all 
its  pitiless  fury,  was  upon  them. 

St.  George  stood  in  the  darkness,  watching  with  a  poet's 
interest,  the  sublimity  of  the  scene.  Judge  Eustace  and 
Arthur  Kean  were  deep  in  a  game  of  chess.  Near  them 
Helen  Temple  sat  reading  the  latest  novel,  and  in  one  of 
the  drawing  rooms,  Gov.  Eustace  and  his  mother  were 
talking  with  Philip  and  Mariana.  The  lamps  threw  their 
softened  radiance  over  the  beautiful  rooms,  rosy  with 
warmth  and  comfort.  All  was  serene  and  pleasant  there. 
The  storm  without  might  roar  and  buffet  the  oaks,  but 
no  .trace  of  its  disturbing  breath  reached  this  group  as 
they  sat  lovingly  together.  The  brilliant  orator,  the 
honored  statesman,  the  restless  and  unsatisfied  politician 
was  here  in  the  bosom  of  love  and  peace.  The  eyes  of.' 
his  mother,  still  beautiful  in  her  age,  were  full  of  tender- 
ness and  gratification  as  she  looked  upon  her  son  and; 
remembered  the  dutiful  affection  he  had  always  shown 
her,  even  in  his  exalted  station  as  the  chief  magistrate  of 
a  great  State.  His  heart  was  full  of  the  undying  memories 
of  his  boyhood,  and  he  recalled  her  image,  then  so  lovely,, 
so  tender  with  his  little  failings,  so  full  of  compassion 
when  he  suffered.  As  he  looked  down  at  the  meek  face 
with  its  golden  hair  and  sightless  eyes,  another  counte- 
nance, as  heavenly  in  its  lineaments,  which  had  illumined 
his  early  manhood,  returned  to  him  from  out  the  past. 
That  face,  with  its  unforgotten.  love,  came  back  with 
7 


98  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

wonderful  distinctness,  as  he  communed  with  those  near- 
est and  dearest  of  all  the  earth  to  him. 

"  Father,  said  Mariana,  "  when  you  are  old  as  grandpa 
will  you  come  and  live  here  quietly  with  us?" 

"  Yes,  my  daughter,  that  is  the  pleasantest  thought 
that  comes  to  me  in  my  care-laden  public  life.  I  trust  I 
shall  be  able  to  escape  the  drudgery  of  office  before  long, 
and  return  here,  where  my  heart  has  always  been,  ere  I 
am  much  farther  advanced  in  the  evening  of  my  days. 
I  hope  that  providence  and  the  importunity  of  the  people 
will  not  detain  me,  until  like  Cardinal  Wolsey,  'An  old 
man,  broken  with  the  storms  of  state,  shall  come  to  lay 
his  bones  among  vou.'  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Ashton,"  said  Mrs.  Eustace,  "  nothing  but 
a  sense  of  duty  to  God  and  our  country  supports  me  in 

:my  old  age  in  my  separation  from  you  and  Stanhope. 
Poor  fellow!  I  wonder  where  he  and   his  regiment  are 

.  this  dreadful  night." 

"  He  is  somewhere  about  Fort  Leavenworth.     I  received 

.  a  letter  from  him  just  before  leaving  the  capital.     There 

■  is  strong  prospect  of  a  war  with  Mexico,  in  case  we  annex 
Texas,  and  he  will  be  made  a  brigadier-general  in  that 
event.  I  will  watch  his  interest  with  the  Secretary  of 
War." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  there  will  be  no  war,"  said  Mariana.  "  My 
brave  uncle  Stanhope  might  be  killed,  and  it  seems  to 
me  so  wicked  to  slay  the  men  and  poor  horses,  as  in  the 
picture  of  Waterloo  I  used  to  see  before  I  was  blind." 

"  Yes,  it  seems  cruel,  my  child,  but  the  best  nations  are 
sometimes  forced  into  war:  and  patriotism  and  religion, 

.  alike,  require  of  men  that  they  should  defend  their  homes. 

.  I  trust  the  life  of  my  brother  will  be  spared.     The  presi- 


Fireside  Conversations.  99 

dent  has  intimated  that  the  conflict  is  inevitable,  and  he 
has  notified  the  Governors  of  the  States  to  be  in  readiness 
for  assembling  the  militia  and  calling  for  volunteers." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Philip,  "  I  were  old  enough  to  get  your 
consent,  father,  to  wield  a  sabre  in  my  uncle's  regiment. 
Black  Sultan  would  take  me  into  the  strongest,  hollow 
square  ever  formed  in  Mexico,  not  even  excepting  the  iron 
men  who  conquered  under  Cortez." 

"You  are  too  young  for  such  things  as  yet,  my  son. 
Continue  in  your  dutiful  obedience  to  your  grand-parents, 
and  there  is  nothing  in  which  I  can,  with  propriety,  please 
you,  that  shall  be  withheld.  Your  connection  with 
Mr.  Grey  has  been  so  satisfactory,  I  need  not  say  to  you 
I  hope  you  will  make  it  as  pleasant  for  Mr.  Kean.  I  am 
much  pleased  with  the  gravity  and  learning  of  your  new 
friend.  His  acquisitions  make  him  an  invaluable  in- 
structor to  you.  I  knew  his  father,  and  there  was  not  a 
finer  gentleman  in  the  limits  of  the  country.  He  bore 
himself  nobly  in  his  misfortunes,  and  his  son  is  deserv- 
ing of  all  honor  for  his  conduct,  since  their  sad  mis- 
chance." 

"  You  need  have  no  apprehension  on  that  score,  father. 
Mr.  Kean  has  my  warmest  regard,  and  it  shall  not  be 
for  want  of  exertion  on  my  part,  if  I  fail  to  obtain  equal 
esteem  from  himself." 

"  Do  not  allow  your  fondness  for  amusements,  my  son, 
to  absorb  the  attention  you  would  devote  to  study.  I 
know  it  is  frequently  irksome  for  a  young  man  of  your 
age  to  forego  the  society  of  his  friends  and  the  excitement 
of  the  chase,  but  always  remember  that  human  excel- 
lence is  the  result  of  prolonged  exertion  in  the  mastery 
of  details.     Youthful  minds  are  too  apt  to  regard  such 


100  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

things  as  insignificant  and  unworthy  the  labor  bestowed, 
but  there  is  no  greater  mistake  in  life  than  the  foolish 
haste  of  some  men  who  attempt  the  execution  of  enter- 
prises for  which  the}'  are  unfitted  by  want  of  preparation. 
As  well  might  we  essay  to  grapple  with  the  problems  of 
high  mathematics,  being  in  ignorance  of  the  elementary 
rules  of  arithmetic.  It  is  a  fixed  law  in  the  nature  of 
things,  that  nothing  great  shall  be  accomplished  without 
sacrifice  in  its  attainment;  just  as  gold  is  valuable  be- 
cause it  is  hard  to  find,  and  difficult  of  sepaiation  from 
its  alloys.  Philip,  I  do  not  wish  to  encourage  in  your 
young  mind  an}^  vain  and  empty  ambition  to  bring  you 
dissatisfaction  hereafter.  I  do  not  even  advise  you  to 
form  your  future  plans  on  the  basis  of  public  life.  I 
have  seen  too  much  of  the  unfruitfulness  of  political 
honors  to  desire  your  imitation  of  myself  in  that  respect 
I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  yield  to  the  importunate 
demands  of  my  friends,  urging  me  to  accept  unsought 
nominations,  and  thus  I  have  been  withheld  from  the 
care  of  my  own  desolated  hearth,  and  have  devoted  to  the 
State  the  attention  I  owe,  by  nature  and  inclination,  to 
you,  my  dear  children." 

"You  will  never  know,"  continued  Gov.  Eustace,  "how 
I  have  longed  to  be  here  at  Ellesmere  with  you  all.  When 
your  mother  died,  life  became  so  heavy  to  me  that  I 
3'ielded  to  the  advice  of  m}r  friends,  and  looked  around 
for  some  larger  excitement  to  help  me  from  myself  and 
the  grief  which  haunted  me.  Thus  again  I  entered  uj)on 
a  life  I  had  abjured  on  my  marriage,  by  consenting  to 
become  a  member  of  Congress.  I  have  never  sought  any 
of  the  many  public  trusts  that  my  countrymen  have  seen 
fit  to  confer  upon  me.     Plere  in  this  copy  of  Plato  I  have 


Fireside  Conversations.  101 

been  reading  how  Socrates  declares,  in  relation  to  the 
duty  of  a  citizen  :  '  Whoever  continues  with  us,  after  he 
has  seen  the  manner  in  which  we  administer  justice,  and 
in  other  respects  govern  the  city,  we  now  say,  that  he  has 
in  fact  entered  into  a  compact  with  us,  to  do  what  we 
order;  and  we  affirm  that  he  who  does  not  obey  is  in 
three  respects  guilty  of  injustice;  because  he  does  not 
obey  us  who  gave  him  being ;  because  he  does  not  obey 
us  who  nurtured  him  ;  and  because,  having  made  a  com- 
pact that  he  would  obey  us,  he  neither  does  so,  nor  does 
he  pursuade  us  if  we  do  anything  wrongly.'  I  have 
thought  that  if  this  wisest  of  the  heathen  philosophers 
could  hold  such  views  of  public  duty,  it  was  incumbent 
on  me  to  forego  my  pleasure,  in  deference  to  the  public 
will.  These  positions  are  of  so  much  importance  they 
become  curses  to  th-e  community  when  filled  by  dis- 
honest men." 

"  Then  you  think,  father,"  said  Philip,  "  it  is  the  duty 
•of  a  man  to  surrender  his  own  inclination  to  the  declared 
wishes  of  a  majority  of  his  countrymen  ;  and  he  has  no 
right  to  decline  the  measure  of  duty  they  may  impose 
oipon  him." 

"  That  is  precisely  my  belief,  Philip,  and  it  has  kept 
me  from  all  that  I  love  most,  during  the  larger  part  of 
any  manhood." 

"  Father,"  said  Mariana,  "  I  trust  the  good  people  will 
let  you  come  home  to  us  before  long." 

"Here  the  party  in  the  drawing-room  joined  those  in 
the  library.  Mr.  Grey  was  at  Ellesmere,  and  had  been 
for  some  time,  in  conversation  with  Judge  Eustace  and 
Arthur  Kean.  Percival  St.  George,  after  watching  the 
siorm,  was  now  talking  with  Miss  Temple.     Mr.  Grey  was 


102  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

a  year  younger  than  Gov.  Eustace.  He  was  a  small,  thin 
man,  with  mild,  intelligent  features,  and  was  the  imper- 
sonation of  guiless  innocence.  He  was  remarkable  for  his 
scholarship,  the  warmth  of  his  affections,  and  a  noble 
absence  of  all  selfishness  in  his  disposition.  His  life  had 
been  devoted  to  study  and  the  instruction  of  Philip, 
Mariana,  and  Judge  Eustace's  negroes.  He  was  a  little 
impracticable  in  some  of  his  opinions;  but,  conceding 
the  truth  of  his  premises,  his  lucid  and  well-considered 
arguments  soon  brought  his  listeners  inevitably  to  the 
conclusion  he  desired.  He  loved  and  admired  Judge 
Eustace  with  much  of  that  old,  feudal  attachment  that 
once  so  strongly  connected  protecting  greatness  and  wise 
humility;  but  all  this  deference  to  the  great  man  was 
powerless  to  lead  the  simple-hearted  admirer  beyond  what 
he  believed  was  right. 

"Governor,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "I  have  been  hoping  that 
our  State  Legislature  will  give  my  memorial  more  atten- 
tion this  session  than  thev  did  two  vears  ago.  I  shall  not 
be  satisfied  until  the  slaves  are  legally  married  and  per- 
mitted to  qualify  themselves  to  obey  the  Lord's  injunc- 
tion :  '  Search  the  scriptures.'  " 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  governor,  "  I  would  rejoice 
if  there  were  no  objection  to  both  objects  of  }^our  memo- 
rial, but  I  must  say,  that  the  perusal  of  the  "Boston 
Liberator,"  and  kindred  publications,  by  our  slaves,  would 
add  nothing  to  the  security  of  the  commonwealth,  and 
inevitably  produce  discontent.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
freely  confess  that  I  believe  the  African  race  is  included 
in  the  new  covenant,  and  therefore  owe  obedience  to  its 
commands.  The  question  of  marriage  has  two  different 
aspects.     One  is  purely  legal,  making  the  bond  which 


Fireside  Conversations.  103 

unites  man  and  wife  nothing  beyond  a  simple  con- 
tract at  law,  by  which  the  husband  becomes  bound  to 
afford  sustenance  and  protection  to  his  wife  and  their 
issue.  He  thereby  acquires  her  property,  unless  other- 
wise stipulated  by  written  agreement  previous  to  mar- 
riage. In  this  view  of  the  case,  the  slave  cannot  be  benefit- 
ted by  the  legalization  of  his  contract  of  marriage.  He 
cannot  become  liable  for  the  support  of  his  wife  and 
children,  nor  to  an  action  at  law  for  the  recovery  of  her 
debts.  Another  intention  of  the  solemnization  of  the  rite 
of  matrimony  is  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  descent.  A 
slave  cannot,  by  law,  be  considered  the  legal  owner  of 
property:  in  virtue  of  the  master's  title  to  himself,  his 
individual  chattels  being  considered  those  of  his  owner. 
It  can,  then,  never  become  a  matter  of  importance  to  the 
slave  himself  to  ascertain  who  was  his  grandfather.  I 
think,  however,  it  is  a  shame  to  southern  civilization, 
that  our  legislation  has  looked  so  little  to  the  enforcement 
of  the  moral  duties  incident  to  the  marriage  state  among 
the  negroes/' 

"To  deal  with  one  question  at  a  time,  governor,"  said 
Mr.  Grey,  "  are  we  unable  to  exclude  the  '  Liberator'  and 
other  incendiary  documents  from  the  borders  of  our  State 
by  legislation  among  ourselves?" 

"  The"  carrying  of  the  mails  is  a  matter  exclusively 
under  the  control  of  the  General  Government,  and  you 
know  what  a  storm  has  been  raised  by  the  action  of  Con- 
gress in  that  matter." 

"Well,  this  is  the  naked  fact,  as  I  view  it,"  said  Mr. 
Grey.  "We  have  the  positive  command  of  the  Saviour 
to  search  the  scriptures.  This  divine  injunction  rests 
alike  upon  all  the  human  species.     It  is  our  duty,  not 


104  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

only  to  avoid  putting  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of 
its  fulfillment,  but  to  give  all  the  necessary  aid  to  the 
acquisition  of  such  knowledge  as  will  render  it  possible. 
As  to  the  question  of  marriage  you  agree  to  all  I  wish. 
I  simply  desire  that  come  legislative  sanction  may  give 
moral  strength  to  the  tie,  and  that  men  and  women,  if 
they  are  slaves,  shall  still  be  treated  as  husband  and 
wife." 

"  There  are  many  hardships  connected  with  the  law,'" 
said  Judge  Eustace,  "and  some  of  them  are  inevitable; 
but  there  is  much  unreasonable  prejudice  among  lawyers 
which  often  prevents  their  correction  where  it  might  be- 
highlv  salutarv." 

"There  is  nothing  connected  with  mankind  which  so- 
humiliates  the  self-respect  of  thoughtful  minds  as  the 
engines  of  oppression  and  misrule — called  governments. 
As  a  general  thing,  in  most  ages  and  countries,  they  have 
been  hereditary  despotisms.  Often,  a  man  of  ordinary 
discretion  rules  the  great  body  of  the  people  as  he  chooses ; 
then  again  we  see  in  this  king — a  drivelling  idiot  too* 
weak  to  maintain  his  station — supplanted  by  some  ad- 
venturer, who  becomes  a  tyrant,  for  fear  others  may 
imitate  his  disregard  of  vested  authority.  At  rare  inter- 
vals the  struggling  million?,  organized  by  oppression, 
arise  and  slay  their  tormentor;  and  at  once  rush  hi  to  the 
wild  and  short-lived  folly  of  premature  democrac}'.  At 
other  times  we  see  wiser  men  slowly  exacting  from  r<ryal 
prerogative  some  of  its  original  powers,  and  adding  little 
to  little,  as  England  has  done  since  the  days  of  Runny- 
mede,  they  build  up  what  they  call  a  temple  of  liberty. 
But  will  any  man,  who  knows  the  story  of  her  government 
of  India  and  Ireland,,  contend  that  there  are  not  thus. 


\ 


fireside  Conversationss.  105 

exhibited  elements  of  grinding  misrule?  It  is  mournful 
to  think  of  the  injustice  and  instability  which  seem  to 
degrade  and  pull  down  eventually,  all  human  govern- 
ments, like  the  fatal  curse  that  hung  over  the  doomed 
house  of  Atreus." 

"  You  do  not  think  our  boasted  American  government," 
said  St.  George,  "  liable  to  any  of  these  objections  you 
have  been  specifying  ?" 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  I  do.  I  must  be  honest  enough  to 
declare  that  I  hold  African  slavery  radically  at  war  with 
the  theory  of  the  American  government.  I  think  it 
abundantly  justified  in  the  word  of  God  and  the  necessi- 
ties of  our  present  condition  ;  and  I  also  believe  that  this 
democratic  theory  is  doomed  to  superannuation  and 
effeteness,  in  less  than  a  century.  I  do  not  deny  that  Mr. 
Madison  and  his  compeers  framed  the  best  possible 
instrument  then  within  the  reach  of  human  wisdom  ;  but 
I  hold  that  there  is  an  original  infirmity  in  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  human  mind  that  renders  abortive  and  trans- 
itory all  systems  of  rule.  The  strongest  government,  like 
the  human  frame,  bears  in  its  very  limitations  the  seeds 
which  must  eventually  ripen  into  decay  and  death. 
Our  history  for  the  last  thirty  years  abundantly  sustains 
me  in  my  assertion.  Can  any  of  us  say  that  the  Constitu- 
tion has  been  administered  according  to  the  terms  agreed 
upon  by  the  States  who  were  the  high  contracting  parties 
to  that  august  compact?  I  left  the  political  arena,  dis- 
gusted with  the  gradual  extension  of  the  general  over 
particular  rights,  in  questions  between  the  State  and 
Federal  governments.  I  may  be  in  my  grave  before  it 
happens,  but  some  of  you  will  live  to  see  the  overthrow 
and  disruption  of  the  Union,  or  the  suppression  of  every 


106  The  Heirs  of  St..  Kilda. 

reserved  right  guaranteed  to  the  States  by  the  Constitu- 
tion." 

"  Then,  Judge  Eustace,"  said  Arthur  Kean,  "  if  I  under- 
stand your  position,  there  are  two  difficulties  that  forbid 
the  idea  of  stability  to  any  government;  the  inherent 
defects  in  the  constitution,  and  the  unwillingness  of  men 
to  abide  by  the  terms  of  the  charter  after  it  is  framed." 

"  That  is  as  fair  a  statement  of  my  views  as  could  be 
conveyed  in  so  few  words  " 

"  Gov.  Eustace,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  you  must  have  been 
much  gratified  with  the  overwhelming  majority  by  whicli 
you  were  recently  re-elected  to  the  chief-magistracy  of 
the  State." 

"  Oh  !  of  course,"  said  the  governor.  "  Popular  applause 
is  more  or  less  grateful  to  every  man,  as  the  converse  of 
the  proposition,  that  all  men  instinctively  shrink  from 
public  obloquy,  is  also  true.  Yet  on  analysing  this 
gratification,  we  are  often  humbled  to  find,  that  of  the 
masses  who  have  contributed  their  votes,  but  a  tithe  of 
them  were  actuated  either  by  patriotism  or  discretion,  in 
the  choice  of  candidates.  A  blind,  unreasonable,  adher- 
ence to  mere  party  seems  to  be  the  highest  standard  of 
political  morality,  of  which  a  vast  majority  of  men  are 
capable.  The  wisest  of  the  Greeks  declared,  '  We  must 
not  so  much  regard  what  the  multitude  may  say  of  us,  but 
wKat  he  may  say  who  understands  the  just  from  the  un- 
just.' It  is  perfect^  within  the  range  of  possibility,  that 
the  almost  unbroken  voice  of  the  wise  few  may  be  against 
the  selection  of  a  candidate  who  is  after  all  returned  by  a 
large  majority.  I  say  not  these  things  as  objecting  to 
free  institutions,  but  simply  to  show  you  that,  as  much  as 
I  appear  to  enjoy  the  sunshine  of  popular  favor,  I  yet 


Fireside  Convei'sations.  107 

sometimes  turn  aside  and  listen  to  the  still,  small  voice 
which  ever  and  anon  asks  of  each  man  the  question, 
'  what  is  all  this  worth  ?'  " 

"  Carlyle  has  somewhere  declared,"  said  Percival  St. 
George,  "that  government  consists  in  the  selection  of  the 
the  wisest  man  in  the  state.  What  is  to  be  the  ultimate 
effect  of  the  means  now  used  in  our  country  toward  attain- 
ing this  end?  The  framers  of  the  constitution  clearty 
looked  to  the  electoral  colleges  as  the  bodies  which  should 
select  the  president  of  the  United  States.  The  substitu- 
tion of  the  convention  system,  seems  to  me  a  step  back- 
wards." 

"  It  is  only  another  feature  of  omnipotent  demagogue- 
ism,"  said  Judge  Eustace.  "  Men,  who  are  too  ignorant 
to  know  the  teachings  of  history,  or  in  criminal  disregard 
of  their  significance,  are  pushing  us,  every  year,  nearer 
to  anarchy,  in  their  insane  and  limitless  extension  of  the 
right  of  suffrage.  I  honestly  believe  that,  in  case  slavery 
shall  ever  be  abolished  in  these  southern  states,  men 
would  not  be  wanting  to  advocate  the  enlargement  of  this 
popular  franchise  to  the  negroes,  steeped  as  they  are  in 
ignorance.  A  republic,  controlled  primarily  by  a  limited 
number  of  intelligent  and  honest  voters,  is  to  me  the 
most  reasonable  and  satisfactory  system  of  rule  yet  tried 
among  men.  One,  resting  on  universal  suffrage,  is  at 
best  a  bubble  and  the  most  inexorable  of  all  tyrannies, 
from  the  fact  that  it  is  equally  senseless  and  irresponsible. 
The  convention  system  you  referred  to,  Percival,  is  noth- 
ing but  the  transfer  of  the  election  to  the  mob,  instead  of 
keeping  it  in  the  hands  of  the  wise  and  responsible  few, 
that  Hamilton,  Madison,  and  their  coadjutors  intended, 
should  select  the  president." 


108  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"Mr.  Grey,"  said  Gov.  Eustace,  "Col.  Ridgely  has  been 
telling  me  of  his  finding  the  skeleton  of  some  huge  ani- 
mal in  the  bed  of  the  creek  at  the  foot  of  Hawkshead." 

'•  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  from  what  I  have  heard, 
that  some  saurian  perished  there  in  primeval  days.  I 
have  several  times  explored  the  course  of  the  stream, 
endeavoring  to  find  the  subterranean  connection  which, 
I  have  no  doubt,  exists  between  it  and  the. Bride's  Tarn. 
The  mournful  fate  of  poor  Ellice  Newton,  who  perished 
in  its  dark  waters,  lends  a  tragic  interest  to  the  spot. 

"Mr.  Grey,"  said  Helen  Temple,  "  do  tell  me  the  par- 
ticulars of  that  sad  storv.  I  have  heard  vou  and  uncle 
Eustace  often  refer  to  it." 

"Archibald  Newton,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  was  the  son  of 
that  Stanley  Newton  who  came  over  to  America  with  Sir 
George  Eustace.  He  was  a  man  of  large  wealth,  and 
lived  at  the  place  where  Col.  Ridgely  now  resides.  A 
trace  of  insanity  was  observable,  at  times,  in  his  demean- 
or, which  he  was  said  to  have  inherited  from  his  English 
ancestry.  He  had  contracted  a  second  marriage  with  a 
widow,  the  mother  of  two  sons  by  her  first  husband. 
Young  Stanley  Newton,  the  only  son  of  his  father,  left 
home  in  disgust,  on  the  consummation  of  this  alliance 
which  he  looked  upon  as  lowering  the  rank  of  his  family. 
There  were  many  reports  circulated  in  the  valley  in  rela- 
tion to  the  arts  used  by  the  second  Mrs.  Newton  in  mak- 
ing herself  mistress  of  Knowlton,  the  name  by  which  the 
plantation  is  still  known.  Ellice  grew  up  to  be  a  girl  of 
wondrous  beauty,  and  her  spirits  were  so  buoyant  that 
even  the  rudeness  and  ceaseless  ill-humor  of  her  step- 
mother, for  several  years,  failed  to  cloud  the  sunlight  of  her 
innocent  joy.     Nearly  a  hundred  years  have  passed  away 


Fireside  Conversations.  109 

since  the  light  hearted  girl  rode  her  palfrey  amid  the 
mountains  ;  but  there  is  yet  shown,  at  the  foot  of  Hawks- 
head,  a  little  nook  of  retired  beauty,  which  is  still  called 
Ellice's  bower.  Here  she  loved  to  muse,  undisturbed  by 
the  discomforts  she  frequently  encountered  at  home.  A 
young  girl  named  Lucy  Rhea,  who  had  been  for  some- 
time her  companion,  was  always  with  her  on  these 
excursions." 

"  Robert  Gunteley,"  continued  Mr.  Grey,  "  was  the  elder 
of  Mrs.  Newton's  sons,  and  had  been,  for  some  time,  an 
unsuccessful  suitor  of  the  young  heiress.  His  mother 
became  strangely  fond  and  caressing  in  her  deportment 
to  Ellice  in  the  progress  of  this  love-making,  and  the 
guileless  and  unsuspecting  creature  was  induced,  by  the 
entreaties  of  the  mother  and  son,  in  which  her  infatuated 
father  also  joined,  to  betroth  herself  to  Gunteley.  This 
was  in  the  early  spring,  and  with  the  coming  autumn 
they  were  to  be  married.  In  the  summer  Ellice  went  to 
visit  her  aunt,  who,  learning  the  strategems  of  Mrs.  New- 
ton to  bring  about  this  ill-advised  union,  apparently  lost 
her  resentment  at  her  brother  Archibald's  misalliance, 
and  came  to  Knowlton  for  the  first  time  since  that  event. 
Making  no  objection,  while  there,  to  the  approaching 
nuptials,  she  procured  Mr.  Newton's  consent  for  Ellice  to 
accompany  her  home.  For  a  wonder,  he  did  not  in  this 
matter  suffer  himself  to  be  ruled  by  his  wife,  who  mani- 
fested great  unwillingness  at  her  departure.  Mrs.  Claver- 
ing  discovered  that  her  niece  not  only  was  averse  to 
marrying  Gunteley,  but  really  disliked  him.  She  soon 
gained  Ellice's  consent  that  the  engagement  should  be 
broken  off,  but  enjoined  silence  upon  her,  lest  her  new 
determination  should  be  ascribed  to  the  aunt's  influence 


110  The  Heirs  of  St,  Kilda. 

Mrs.  Clavering  was  fond  of  company,  and  her  house  was 
thronged  for  the  two  months  of  the  young  girl's  stay,  and 
among  the  visitors  was  Spenser  Vivian,  a  young  man  of 
good  connections  and  irreproachable  character.  He  lived 
in  the  valley,  and,  knowing  something  of  Ellice's  unmer- 
rited  suffering,  became  so  much  attracted  by  her  beauty 
and  gentleness  that  he  offered  her  his  hand.  She  had 
been  strangely  interested  in  him  from  their  first  meeting, 
and  now  his  avowal  of  love  was  only  replied  to  by  silent 
tears.  After  much  pursuasion  she  confessed  her  love  for 
himself,  and  how,  by  means  that  she  could  not  under- 
stand, she  was  engaged  to  be  married  in  so  short  a  time 
to  Robert  Gunteley.  She  told  him  of  her  present  horror 
at  the  idea  of  such  a  union,  and  it  was  arranged  between 
them  that,  so  soon  as  she  should  be  free,  Vivian  should 
openly  avow  himself  her  suitor.  She  went  home,  and,  a 
short  time  previous  to  her  expected  wedding,  discarded 
Robert  Gunteley.  Mrs.  Newton  was  enraged,  and  the 
father,  usually  full  of  gentleness  toward  his  daughter, 
goaded  on  by  his  wife,  now  seemed  transformed  in  his 
entire  nature.  The  poor  girl,  amid  sobs,  told  them  he 
could  never  marry  Robert  Gunteley,  to  whom  at  best  she 
had  been  indifferent,  and  for  whom  she  now  entertained 
feelings  of  positive  repugnance.  Spenser  Vivian  visited 
Knowlton,  and  saw  the  pitiful  condition  to  which  Ellice's 
love  for  himself  had  reduced  her.  This  served  but  to 
increase  his  devotion  to  the  beautiful  girl  and  to  multiply 
their  vows  of  fidelity.  Archibald  Newton's  insanity  now 
became  fearfully  evident.  He  maintained  that,  as  Ellice 
had  once  made  a  promise  of  marriage  to  Gunteley,  she 
was  bound  to  fulfill  her  pledge,  and  that  she  should  never 
marrv  another.     All   that  the  tears  and  entreaties  of  the 


I (reside  Conversations.  Ill 

heart-broken  girl  could  avail  was  a  reluctant  consent  that 
she  should  remain  unmarried  for  the  present,  in  order 
that  she  might  forget  Vivian,  who  was  denied  all  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  her.  She  now  manifested  the  hereditary 
taint  of  insanity,  by  the  hopeless  gloom  into  which  she 
sank.  Long  fits  of  weeping,  and  abstinence  from  food, 
soon  brought  her  into  a  rapid  decline.  She  had  refused 
her  lover's  earnest  solicitations  to  marry  without  her 
father's  consent,  and  after  weary  months  of  separation, 
when  fast  sinking  like  a  blighted  flower,  there  came  to 
her  a  new  lease  of  life.  Vivian  had  gone  to  the  foot  of 
Hawkshead,  hoping  she  would  come  in  that  direction, 
and  he  accidently  met  her  that  evening,  for  her  horseback 
exercises  had  been  seldom  allowed  of  late.  After  several 
interviews,  seeing  something  of  the  sorrow  lifted  from 
the  young  girl's  brow,  Mrs.  Newton  sent  a  spy,  who  dis- 
covered these  secret  conferences.  Lucy  Rhea,  her  com- 
panion, was  driven  from  Knowlton,  and  Ellice  deprived 
of  any  future  opportunities  of  thus  meeting  her  lover. 
The  gloom  of  rayless  despair  soon  settled  on  her  life,  for 
a  new  grief  was  now  added  to  the  wrongs  she  had  already 
endured.  A  letter,  purporting  to  be  from  Vivian,  told 
that  he  had  come  to  be  of  her  father's  opinion,  that  she 
was  bound  by  her  first  engagement.  Her  heart  gave  way 
under  this  unexpected  blow.  It  dried  up  the  source  of 
her  tears,  and  she  manifested  no  unwillingness  to  her 
father's  proposition  that  she  should  be  immediately  mar- 
ried to  Robert  Gunteley.  There  were  but  few  witnesses 
to  the  ceremony,  and  Elliee's  demeanor  was  calm  through- 
out the  scene;  but  her  eyes  wore  an  expression  which 
appalled  even  the  clouded  intelligence  of  Archibald  New- 
ton.    As  soon   as  the  fatal  words  had  been  spoken,  he 


112  The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda. 

became  conscience-stricken  with  the  part  he  had  acied 
toward  his  beautiful  and  innocent  child.  All  his  previ- 
ous harshness  was  now  changed  into  the  most  complacent 
tenderness;  half-crazy  and  repentant,  he  walked  along  in 
the  deepening  twilight  with  the  silent  and  drooped  figure 
at  his  side.  They  were  beneath  the  elms  on  the  eastern 
front  of  the  mansion,  near  the  gate  that  opens  on  the 
pathway  leading  to  Hawkshead  mountain.  The  infatu- 
ated man  thought  the  silence  of  the  crushed  heart,  and 
her  recent  obedience,  in  submitting  to  what  she  had  so 
long  resisted,  betokened  entire  submission  to  his  will, 
He  told  his  daughter  all  the  story  of  the  forged  letter,  of 
his  complicity  therein,  and  asked  if  she  was  not  glad  the 
trouble  was  now  all  over.  She  staggered,  as  if  shot 
through  the  heart.  Her  arms,  in  their  snowy,  bridal 
draper}7,  were  clasped  tightly  across  her  eyes,  as  if  to  shut 
out  some  dreadful  image.  The  thin,  wasted  figure  seemed 
bending  beneath  some  intolerable  burden.  She  knelt 
before  him  and  gasped  for  breath." 

"  Oh  !  you  have  killed  me,  father,  oh  !  God,  you  have 
made  me  commit  perjury.  Oh!  father,  you  have  killed 
your  child  who  loved  you  so  dearly.  How  could  you  do 
this  thing  when  you  knew  I  should  die?" 

"She  writhed  in  unutterable  agony;  moans  that  would 
have  melted  a  heart  of  stone  struggled  up  from  her  heart 
burdened  with  a  world  of  woe.  A  new  thought  seemed 
to  have  transformed  her  into  another  being,  and  a  wild, 
maniacal  laugh  burst  from  her  lips." 

"  Father,"  said  she,  arising,  "you  are  good  to  me  after 
all.  Had  you  not  told  me  this,  I  should  have  died  to- 
night thinking  Spenser  Vivian  had  forgotten  all  his  vows. 
I  should  have  gone  to  rest,  thinking  the  truest  of  all  the 


Fireside  Conversations.  113 

world  false  and  unkind.  But  you  have  told  me  better 
now,  dear  father.  I  know  he  loves  me  still.  Oh  !  I  am 
so  happy — so  happy !" 

"  The  white  figure  knelt  in  the  gloom  as  if  engaged  in 
prayer,  and  the  conscience-stricken  man  threw  himself 
on  the  ground  to  hide  a  sight  he  could  no  longer  bear. 
Hearing  nothing,  he  raised  his  head  to  look  around,  but 
Ellice  had  disappeared,  and  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
The  next  day,  after  long  search,  her  body  was  discovered 
in  the  deep,  mountain  tarn.  In  its  black,  motionless  water 
the  gentle  maiden  sought  rest  from  her  heavy  sorrows. 
The  father,  goaded  into  madness  by  the  stings  of  consci- 
ence, sunk  into  senseless  lunacy,  and  Mrs.  Newton  was 
treated  with  such  scorn  by  every  one  in  the  valley,  that 
she  was  forced  to  seek  a  home  elsewhere.  Young  Stanley 
Newton  never  returned,  and  after  the  lapse  of  many 
years,  the  estate  passed  into  the  possession  of  Col.  Ridge- 
ly's  father." 

8 


114  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

GOWER    HALL. 

"  No  human  figure  stirred,  to  go  or  come, 
No  face  looked  forth  from  shut  or  open  casement, 
No  chimney  smoked— there  was  no  sign  of  home 
From  parapet  to  basement. 

O'er  all  there  hung  a  shadow  and  a  fear, 

A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 

And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear, 

The  place  is  haunted."  Haunted  House. 

Early  on  the  day  succeeding  the  night  described  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  Gov.  Eustace  left  Ellesmere  for 
his  post  of  duty  at  the  capital.  His  earnest  and  frequent 
inquiries  as  to  the  condition  of  Mariana's  eyes  proved  how 
much  hope  the  French  physician  had  inspired  as  to  the 
restoration  of  vision  to  those  darkened  orbs,  which,  while 
they  failed  to  convey  to  her  brain  the  images  imprinted 
upon  the  retina,  still  retained  much  of  their  lustrous 
beauty.  The  last  words  of  the  tender  father,  as  he  seated 
himself  in  the  carriage,  was  an  imploring  request  to  her. 
reiterating  the  importance  of  a  strict  compliance  with  the 
oculist's  instructions.  The  large-hearted  man,  with  his 
many  endowments,  again  resumed  his  burden  of  public 
duty,  and  renewed  the  exile  he  was  so  loth  to  continue. 
His  heart  remained  with  the  inmates  of  the  statel}7  house 
at  Ellesmere;  but  all  his  care  was  concealed  in  a  show  of 
exuberant  spirits  and  ceaseless  good  humor.  Mariana 
dried  her  tears  in  the  music  of  the  organ,  and  Philip, 
mastering  his  grief  at  the  separation,  went  to  his  new 
apartments  to  commence  his  studies  under  Arthur  Kean. 


Gower  Hall.  115 

Judge  Eustace  had  suggested  to  his  wife,  that  the  small 
room  adjoining  hers  was  ill  adapted  to  Philip  in  his  in- 
creased mind  and  stature;  so  now,  after  years  of  stay 
within  its  limits,  he  was  to  remove  to  other  quarters- 
Mrs.  Eustace  told  him  she  desired  Mr.  Kean  and  himself 
to  occupy  the  fine  suite  of  rooms  once  used  by  Sir  Elles- 
mere  and  his  wife,  and  now  accompanied  them  as  they 
went  up  to  take  possession. 

"Grandma,"  said  Philip,  "you  have  arranged  every- 
thing here  charmingly.  Our  end  of  the  house  is  a  little 
palace  within  itself." 

"  We  shall  be  as  undisturbed  here,"  said  Kean,  "  as  if 
in  the  heart  of  a  great  forest." 

"  Young  gentlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Eustace,  "  I  am  glad 
you  are  pleased,  for  it  was  my  selection,  and  I  was  fearful 
you  would  think  we  were  banishing  you  to  this  remote 
corner  to  be  rid  of  your  company ;  but  I  know  that  when 
a  man  is  studying  he  wishes  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of 
everything  which  can  talk  and  ask  questions." 

Mrs.  Eustace  soon  left  the  young  men  to  their  studies, 
and  she,  so  full  of  consideration  for  others,  went  through 
the  long,  echoing  corridors  to  find  Mariana.  She  knew 
that  the  blind  girl  was  troubled  at  her  father's  departure, 
for  the  organ  notes  that  had  fallen  on  her  ears  wailed 
only  amid  the  sorrowful,  minor  keys. 

Autumn  and  early  winter  passed  swiftly  by,  as  the  two 
students,  in  undisturbed  devotion  to  their  books,  seldom 
left  Ellesmere  in  quest  of  society.  Occasionally  they  woke 
the  mountain  echoes  with  the  music  of  the  chase,  and  a 
portion  of  each  day  they  devoted  to  horseback  exercise. 
One  evening,  when  Philip  had  been  reading  Prometheus 


116  The  Heirs  of  St.  -Kilda. 

Vinctus,  as  he  laid  aside  that  sublimest  of  all  tragedies, 
he  remarked  to  Kean  : 

"  What  a  terrible  thought  must  have  been  the  first 
conception  of  this  ghastly  drama!  It  probably  haunted 
iEschylus  like  a  night-mare,  before  he  undertook  the 
great  difficulties  he  must  have  foreseen  in  the  treatment 
of  his  subject.  Prometheus,  naked  and  chained  to  the 
storm-smitten  summit  of  the  lonely  mountain,  with  the 
vulture  ever  consuming  his  indestructible  vitals,  is  a 
picture  of  such  awful  suffering  that  he  might  well  have 
shrunk  from  its  portrayal." 

"  The  Greek  tragedians,"  said  Kean,  "were  not  easily 
balked,  either  by  the  horror  or  difficulty  of  their  themes. 
Sophocles,  in  his  CEdipus  Tyrannus,  has  imagined  a  con- 
dition, to  my  mind,  as  horrible  as  that  of  Prometheus. 
The  hidden  significance  of  the  riddle  he  answered  the 
Sphinx,  his  ignorance  of  the  great  problem  of  his 
own  life,  and  his  fatal  discovery  when  it  was  too  late  for 
remedy,  are  even  more  tragic  and  mournful  than  the 
lonely  man  on  Caucassus,  defiant  and  unconquered  in  his 
agony,  and  braving  the  wrath  of  his  immortal  enemy." 

"  I  agree  with  the  critics,"  said  Philip,  "  in  awarding  the 
palm  of  dramatic  excellence  to  the  CEdipus  ;  yet  with  all 
my  admiration  for  the  genius  and  skill  displayed  in  the 
creation  of  these  tragedies,  the  blind  conflict  of  these  men 
with  resistless  destiny  is  too  horrible." 

"  There  was  much  reasonableness,  after  all,"  said  Kean, 
"  in  the  wild  myths  of  that  race,  whose  genius  produced 
an  Iliad,  and  whose  valor  triumphed  at  Marathon. 
Their  belief  in  an  inexorable  destiny  was  a  blind  glimpse 
of  the  overruling  Providence  which  we  know  directs  and 
limits  the  extent  of  human  achievements.     They  testified 


Goiver  Hall.  117 

their  conviction  of  a  controlling  agency  in  earthly  affairs 
by  thus  adducing  instances  of  its  resistless  power.  This 
conviction  has  haunted  the  minds  of  all  ages,  and  we 
find  it  to  have  been  the  central  idea,  not  only  of  the 
ancient  Hellenic  dreams,  but  centuries  later,  when  their 
descendants  had  passed  under  the  sway  of  the  mightier 
Roman,  the  iEneid  developed  the  same  belief.  Virgil 
represented  the  Trojan  fugitive  as  more  fortunate,  but 
still  as  helpless  in  its  hidden  strength  as  any  of  the 
Pelopidae.     Sixteen  centuries  later  Shakspeare  declared: 

"  There  is  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough  hew  them  as  we  may." 

"  How  do  you  like  the  use  of  the  supernatural  in 
poetry  ?"  said  Philip.  "  Are  such  agencies  as  the  king's 
ghost  in  Hamlet,  legitimate  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Kean.  "  I  believe,  with  the  men  of 
preceding  ages,  that  such  things  are  in  existence,  and 
within  the  range  of  possible  communication  with  the 
human  race.  I  have  been  amazed  at  the  skepticism  of 
the  last  half  century  on  this  subject.  I  have  no  patience 
with  the  vulgar  superstition  that  gives  a  ghost  to  every 
old  house;  but  I  cannot  believe  that  the  human  mind, 
constituted  as  it  is,  could  receive,  without  some  corres- 
ponding reality  in  nature,  the  pervading  awTe  which  comes 
over  all  hearts,  in  certain  circumstances,  in  spite  of  reason 
and  pride." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  a  ghost,  if  there  are  such  things," 
said  Philip,  standing  near  the  western  window  of  their 
studio.  "  You  can  see  away  yonder  across  the  valley,  the 
battlements  of  a  large  house,  this  side  of  Harcourt  Hill. 
That  is  old  Govver  Hall.   It  was  built  by  Lyttelton  Gower, 


118  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

who  came  to  the  valley  with  Sir  George  Eustace,  and  it 
has  heen,  for  many  years,  tenantless.  Many  families  have 
tried  to  live  there;  but  some  mysterious  curse  has  been 
about  the  place  since  the  death  of  Harcourt  Gower.  I 
would  like  to  sleep  there  long  enough  to  hear  the  tramp 
of  the  unseen  visitors,  that  Thompson  sa}rs  still  walk 
every  night  about  the  place." 

"  Suppose  you  get  Thompson  to  go  there  and  spend  the 
night  with  you,"  said  Kean,  smiling. 

Carrying  out  the  humor  of  this  suggestion,  they  left 
their  books,  and  repaired  to  the  stables.  Thompson  had 
just  locked  the  doors,  and  was  making  an  authoritative 
announcement  to  his  two  assistants,  that  the  next  time  he 
had  to  call  for  them  twice  before  they  shook  off  their 
slumbers,  as  had  been  the  case  that  morning,  he  should 
deal  out  summary  punishment.  The  countenance  which 
was  clothed  with  frowning  authority  a  moment  before, 
relaxed  into  a  broad  smile,  on  seeing  the  approach  of  the 
white  visitors,  for  he  believed  it  the  duty  of  every  son  of 
Africa  to  light  up  his  face  when  in  the  presence  of  his 
superiors. 

"Good  evening,  uncle  Thompson." 

"  Sarvant,  Masters." 

"  How  are  you  and  your  command  ?"  said  Philip. 

"Thank  de  Lord,  we's  all  gettin'  along  middlin'  this 
arternoon.  All  the  sore-eyed  dogs  is  gittin'  well,  now  wre 
aint  got  dat  red  fox  to  run  us  to  death.  Night  afore  last, 
arter  ole  'oman  Nancy  and  me  was  in  bed,  who  should 
come  a  scratchin'  at  my  door  but  that  same  Sweetlips 
what's  been  lost  dese  three  month's  past.  I  heerd  de 
whinin'  and  scratchin'  but  I  was  sorter  jubous  like  about 
gwine  out  dat  time  o'night,  for  to  tell  you  de  truth,  I  'aint 


Gower  Hall.  119 

biii  de  same  nigger  sense  dat  triflin'  dog  skeerd  me  to 
death  in  de  slashes.  So  you  see  I  waked  up  Nancy,  sorter 
for  company  like.  Says  I,  '  ole  'oman,  you  hear  dat 
scratchin'  at  the  door?'  Says  she,  'Thompson,  1  'aint 
hearn  any  scratchin'.  Why  can't  you  let  folks  sleep.' 
Says  I,  'you  mout  keep  folks  company  when  dey  raly 
stands  in  need.'  I  turned  over  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep, 
but  de  thing  kep  sich  a  fass  at  de  door  I  blowed  up  de 
light,  and  peeped  out  to  see  what  it  was,  but  nothin'  could 
I  disarm  I  cracked  de  door  open  a  little  wider,  when, 
blest  to  heaven,  in  jumped  dat  same  Sweetlips  I  had  done 
gin  out  for  dead.  I  got  back  in  de  bed,  and  Nancy  had 
to  turn  her  out,  for  I  wont  certain  whether  'twas  Sweet- 
lips  or  her  ghost." 

"Uncle  Thompson,"  said  Philip,  "would  you  see  me 
encounter  danger  without  doing  all  you  could  to  help 
me?" 

"  Mass.  Phil.,  I  am  ready  to  die  afore  harm  shall  tetch 
you." 

"  Well,"  said  Philip,  "  Mr.  Kean  and  I  have  been  talk- 
ing about  ghosts,  and  we  want  you  to  go  with  us,  and 
spend  to-morrow  night  in  Gower  House." 

A  deep  groan  broke  from  the  depths  of  Thompson's 
chest,  and  his  small  eyes  opened  wider  and  wider,  until 
a  ring  of  white  was  seen  around  them.  His  astonishment 
at  the  proposition  seemed  to  have  taken  away  his  utter- 
ance.    At  length  he  found  words. 

"Mass.  Phil.,  just  kill  me  stone-dead  where  I  stand;  I 
tell  you  I'd  ruther  die  ten  times  over  dan  go  anywheres 
about  dat  house  arter  dark." 

<(  What  in  the  world  makes  you  so  afraid  of  Gower 
Hall?"  said  Keam 


120  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Kean,  aint  you  hearn  about  all  dera  things 
dats  storrniiv  and  hollorin'  about  Gower  House  every 
night  ?  Why  dare  aint  a  family  in  de  valley  dat  can  stay 
at  de  place,  and  sense  Mr.  Rider  seed  what  he  did,  folks 
don't  even  go  by  it  arter  dark." 

"  What  happened  to  Mr.  Rider?"  said  Philip. 

"  Mass.  Phil.,  I  never  likes  to  talk  about  sich  things 
arter  night;  it  puts  cold  chills  on  me,  and  I  can't  sleep 
good  arter  it ;  but  howsouaever,  dat  aint  tellin'  how  Jack 
Rider  got  skeered  so  nigh  to  deth.  Well,  you  see,  he 
had  jest  come  to  live  in  de  valley,  and  was  mightily  taken 
wid  one  of  Squair  Morton's  daughters.  Dare  was  some 
party  doins  over  dare  dat  night,  and  dare  was  no  want  of 
sperits  at  de  Squairs,  and  I  spose  Mr.  Rider  got  his  sheer. 
He  started  iate  arter  de  party  broke  up,  to  go  across  de 
river  dat  runs  along  by  Gower  Hall,  and,  feeling  his 
liquor  a  little,  he  didn't  notice  de  new  road  which  turns 
to  de  left;  so  he  follered  de  old  track  along  by  de  house. 
It  seems  to  me  dat  any  sensible  man  ought  to  known 
better  dan  to  a  done  sich  a  thing.  Well,  he  went  a  blun- 
dering along,  for  de  moon  was  gettin  mighty  low,  and  de 
shadows  from  trees  lay  monstrous  thick  along  de  avenue. 
De  road  was  full  of  ruts,  for  folks  didn't  go  dat  way  sense 
de  new  one  was  made  through  de  meadows.  Jack  Rider 
hadn't  hearn  much  about  de  place,  being  a  new  comer  in 
de  country,  so  he  thought  he  would  ride  past  de  house 
any  how,  for  by  dis  time  he  found  out  dat  he  had  missed 
de  right  road.  He  could  see  de  great,  high  walls  and 
chimbleys  shinin'  through  de  dead  trees,  killed  by  de 
lightning  dat  struck  de  house,  dat  summer.  He  was  nigh 
about  up  to  de  big  willow  oak,  which  stands  in  de  corner 
of  de  front  lawn,  when  he  heerd  somebody  a  cryin'  as  if 


Gower  Hall. 


121 


dare  hearts  would  break.  His  horse  stopped  still  in  de 
road  an  commenced  trimblin'  like  a  leaf.  Jack  Rider 
looked  into  de  shadow  of  de  big  tree,  but  he  could  disarn 
nothin.  He  didn't  like  de  warm  steam  dat  come  agin  his 
face,  for  he  had  hearn  tell  how  dat  was  a  bad  sign.  De 
thing  kep  on  a  cryin'  and  he  put  both  spurs  well  into  his 
horse's  flanks  to  git  him  by  de  willow  oak ;  when,  as  true 
as  I'm  a  standin'  here,  a  beautiful,  tall,  young  white 
'oman  walked  out  intode  road  ahead  of  him.  Her  white 
silk  dress  trailed  a  yard  behind  her,  an  she  was  a  ringin' 
of  her  hans,  an  a  cryin'  louder  and  louder.  The  horse 
just  stuck  his  head  atween  his  feet,  an  wouldn't  budge  an 
inch.  The  sweat  poured  off  o'  Jack  Rider,  for  he  was 
skeerd  nigh  about  dead  when  he  fust  seed  her;  but  he 
looked  at  her  standin'  dare  so  white  in  de  moonshine  wid 
her  shinin  silk  clothes  on,  an  her  long, black  hair  ketched- 
up  wid  white  beads;  so,  says  he  to  himself,  dis  'aint  no 
ghost  wTid  all  dis  finery  on  ;  so  he  tuck  heart  and  axed 
her  what  she  wanted.  She  didn't  say  a  word,  but  kep  on 
a  beckonin'  an  a  motionin',  till  he  got  down  to  lead  his 
horse  which  trimbled  so  he  could  hardly  git  him  to  move. 
De  white  'oman  walked  slowly  along  de  road,  lookin' 
back  and  motionin',  till  dey  got  on  de  river  bank,  when 
she  turned  down  de  stream.  Dey  soon  come  to  de  high 
bluff  behind  de  house,  where  she  stopped,  an  lookin'  back 
at  Jack  Rider,  and  cryin'  louder  dan  ever,  an  pintin' 
down  at  de  water,  wid  her  han'  shinin'  wid  finger  rings. 
She  kep  on  a  pintin'  an  beckonin'  down  ;  but  findin' 
Jack  Rider  wont  gwine  any  closer,  she  jes  gin  a  scream, 
an,  jumpin'  up  in  de  air,  she  flung  herself  head-foremost 
down  de  bluff.  He  listened  to  hear  her  strike  de  water, 
but  he  didn't  hear  nothin'.     Five   minits  arter  dat,  Jack 


122  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

Rider  had  put  two  miles  atween  him  and  Gower  Hall  ; 
for  he  knowd  it  was  de  ghost  of  Miss  Creeoy  Gower  he'd 
seen.  She  was  ole  Harcourt's  daughter;  an  dey  tell  me 
she  was  a  gwine  to  be  married,  but  de  man  she  loved 
fell  over  de  very  place  she  wanted  Jack  Rider  to  jump 
down." 

'  Well,  Thompson,  that  sounds  frightful,  if  it  were  true, 
but  how  do  you  know  that  Jack  Rider  was  sober  enough 
to  tell  a  straight  tale  as  to  what  he  saw?" 

'Mass.  Phil.,  I  blieves  every  word  I  tole  you  is  gospel 
truth.-  I've  seen  things  enough  myself  to  convince  me 
dare's  ghosts." 

'  What  did  you  ever  see,  Thompson,"  said  Kean,  "  to 
produce  that  opinion  ?" 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,  about  Mass.  Phil's  size,  ole 
master  was  in  Washington  city  wid  de  balance  of  de 
family,  an  I  was  tendin  to  de  brood  mares  down  at  Blen- 
heim.    So  one  Saturday  night,  I  started  about  dusk   to 
come  here  to  see  mammy.     De  young  mare  I  was  ridin' 
was  so   full  of  life  an  deviltry,  she   got  me  in   de  same 
humor;  so  I  come  along  de  road  singin'  and  a  hollerin, 
carin'  for  nothin'  in  de  world,  if  it  was  dark  ;  for  I  wont 
afeard  o'  ghosts  in  dem  days,  an  I  got  de  conceit  tuck  out 
o'  me  dat  very  night.     It  was  jes  cleverly  daik,  when  I 
got   along  where   Tillery's  ole  tavern   stans.     Delphine 
shied  off  to  one  side  of  de  road,  and  I  looked  round  to  see 
what  she  was  skeered  on,  an  dare  on  top  of  de  fence  I 
seed  what  I  tuck   to  be  a  ten-year  ole  nigger-boy  start- 
naked  an  black  as  de  ace  o'  spades.     I  cust  him,  an'  axed 
what  he  was  doin  up  dare,  dat  time  o'  night.     De  words 
wont  out  o'  my  mouth,  afore  lookin  back  I  seed  de  thing 
come  aflyin  right  behind  me,  and,  I'll  never  speak  agin, 


Goicer  Hall  123 

if  he  didn't  light  right  agin  my  back  on  de  saddle.  I 
smelt  his  brimstone  breath,  an  I  knowd  in  a  minit  dat 
me  an  de  devil  was  ridin  double.  De  mare  knowd  it  too, 
for  she  screamed  like  human  de  minit  he  lit  on  her.  She 
didn't  need  no  urgin',  for,  if  you  blieve  me.  she  jes  ris  an 
flew.  I  leaned  over  her  neck  as  fur  as  I  could  to  keep 
clear  o'  de  thing's  bans  dat  felt  like  iron  in  my  sides.  I 
hollerd  an  begged  him  to  let  me  alone ;  but  dare  he  sot 
behine  de  saddle,  clean  tell  we  got  to  de  stone  bridge  by 
Thorndale.  Dare  he  jumped  up  an  went  off  in  a  clap  o' 
thunder  dat  clean  tuck  away  what  leetle  sense  I  had  left. 
De  nex  thing  I  knowd  I  waked  up  de  nex  day  at  Ramil- 
lies,  an  de  niggers  tole  me,dey  thought  dat  me  an  Delphine 
was  both  gwine  to  die  all  night  arter  we  got  dare." 

"That  was  very  frightful  also,  uncle  Thompson,  but 
you  confess  the  worse  thing  the  devil  did  to  you,  on  this 
occasion,  was  riding  in  your  company,  and  perhaps  pinch- 
ing you  a  little  during  the  excursion.  I  think  you  may 
safely  rely  upon  Harcourt  Gower's  being  as  civil,  if  you 
will  only  consent  to  spend  the  night  in  that  fine  old 
house  you  think  he  still  inhabits." 

"  Mass.  Phil.,  de  only  time  I  ever  failed  to  do  what  you 
wanted  was  when  you  axed  me  to  jump  down  Snowdon 
bluff.  You  was  so  leetle  den,  you  didn't  know  no  better. 
I  didn't  do  it,  case  I  knowd  twould  kill  me.  I'd  ruther 
die  dan  go  to  Gower  Hall  wid  all  dem.  sperits  an  dead 
folks  walkin'  an  cryin'  about  dare.  I'm  afeerd  enough  of 
dat  white  'oraan  wid  her  pearls  an  finger  rings ;  but  she 
aint  all  folks  has  seen  gwine  about  dare  in  de  dark. 
Taint  bin  five  years  sense  Miss  Retta  Courtenay's  ole  Sam., 
like  a  fool,  went  along  dare  one  night,  an  de  fuss  thing 
he  knowd  he  heerd  horses  a  meetin'  him.     Dev  come  at 


124  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

a  full  run  up  de  ole  race  course  on  de  side  o'  de  road,  an 
he  seed,  as  plain  as  I  see  you,  Harcourt  Gower,  whos'  bin 
dead  dese  fifty  years,  ridin  dat  same  horse,  Dreadnought 
he  killed,  for  boltin'  at  de  races  one  day,  when  Sam.  was 
a  boy.  He  didn't  know  at  fuss  who  was  ridin  tother 
horse,  but  a  secon'  glimpse  showed   him  'twas  de  devil." 

"  Uncle  Thompson,  I  fear  we  shall  have  to  get  some  one 
else  to  go  as  our  servant." 

"  Mass.  Phil.,  I'm  afeard  you  will ;  I'm  willin'  to  go 
anywhere  dare  aint  no  ghosts,  but  dey  is  things  I  can't 
injore  no  how." 

Philip  amused  the  family  at  the  supper  table  with  a 
repetition  of  the  marvelous  stories  Thompson  had  been 
recounting  to  Kean  and  himself. 

"  A  great  mystery  hangs  over  that  old  house,"  said 
Judge  Eustace.  "  I  was  a  small  boy  when  Harcourt  Gower 
died  ;  but  I  still  remember  his  striking  appearance.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  dissipated  and  turbulent  men  I  ever 
knew,  and  always  seemed  troubled  with  the  memory  of 
black  deeds,  which,  it  was  currently  believed,  had  fre- 
quently marked  his  course  in  life.  Just  previous  to  his 
death  he  had  reached  home  from  a  racing  excursion,  in 
which  he  had  lost  heavily.  His  daughter,  Lucretia,  was 
then  living,  and  was  a  splendid  and  voluptuous  beauty. 
Young  Harcourt,  having  incurred  his  father's  displeasure 
by  some  difference  which  had  arisen  between  them,  was 
no  longer  an  inmate  of  the  house.  Old  Gower  exhibited 
his  usual  violence  in  the  resentment  he  bore  his  son,  and 
had  sworn,  an  hundred  times,  that  not  a  shilling  of  his 
money  should  go,  at  his  death,  to  the  youth.  The  morn- 
ing after  his  return  he  was  sitting  before  the  fire  in  com- 
pany with  several  visitors,  and   Lucretia  inquired  as  to 


Gower  Hall  125 

what  had  been  his  success  at  the  races.  The  question, 
seemingly  natural  and  innocent  in  itself,  called  up  a 
storm  of  frantic  and  ungovernable  rage  in  her  father. 
Choking  in  the  midst  of  the  most  horrible  blasphemy,  he 
fell  to  the  floor  in  a  state  of  insensibility.  Apoplexy  had 
succeeded,  at  last,  in  producing  a  death  which  cold  steel 
and  fire-arms  had  so  often  failed  to  bring  about.  He  had 
given  to  his  daughter,  by  a  will  he  had  written  some  time 
before,  the  whole  of  his  large  estate.  It  was  said  that 
Lucretia  did  but  little  toward  producing  reconciliation 
between  her  father  and  her  brother,  and  very  probably 
added  fresh  fuel  to  the  wrath  that  burned  so  vindictively 
against  the  son,  who  had  largely  inherited  the  rash  and 
unyielding  disposition  of  his  sire.  Her  mother  had  died 
in  her  infancy,  and  Lucretia  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  a  young  man  who  perished  by  falling  from  the  bluff 
of  which  Thompson  spoke.  She  survived  his  death  but 
a  few  months,  and  young  Harcourt  succeeded  to  the  in- 
heritance in  spite  of  his  father's  wishes.  From  the  date 
of  his  taking  possession  wrild  stories  have  been  told  of 
sights  and  sounds  in  and  about  Gower  Hall.  He  persis- 
ted in  living  in  the  house  during  his  short  and  ill-fated 
life,  and  would  arise  from  the  stormiest  revelry  to  curse 
his  father,  who,  he  alleged,  was  looking  at  him  through 
the  doors  and  windows.  He  could  never,  it  is  said,  sleep 
undisturbed  at  night;  but  this  failed  to  terrify  him,  until 
in  his  last  hours,  when  sinking  under  an  attack  of 
delirium  tremens,  he  frantically  besought  his  companions 
to  save  him  from  his  inexorable  persecutor.  Gower  Hall 
was,  at  that  time,  one  of  the  noblest  seats  in  the  valley; 
and  several  families  have  endeavored  to  live  there  since, 


126  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

but  have  soon  abandoned  the  place,  which  seems,  in  some 
unaccountable  way,  to  have  become  uninhabitable." 

After  supper  all  the  family  then  at  Ellesmere  were  col- 
lected in  the  library.  Percival  St.  George  was  gone  to 
Vaucluse  ;  Mariana  and  Helen  Temple  were  at  Thorndale. 
The  next  was  Christmas  week,  and  Mrs.  Courtenay,  and 
Rosamond,  with  other  friends,  had  promised  to  spend 
that  delightful  season  with  Mrs.  Eustace. 

"Philip,"  said  his  grandfather,  "  what  has  been  your 
chief  study  this  week  ?" 

"The  Greek  tragedies,  sir.  I  shall  soon  finish  that  por- 
tion of  my  classical  course;  and  I  regret  that  I  shall,  in 
the  future,  have  so  little  to  remind  me  of  these  beautiful 
and  deathless  memorials  of  Athenian  genius." 

"  That  was  a  wonderful  age,  indeed,"  said  Judge  Eust- 
ace, "  which  witnessed  the  lives  of  the  three  great  masters 
of  tragic  drama.  Athens  of  that  day  was  the  most 
splendid  development  of  civic  and  military  virtue  ever 
exhibited  by  any  of  the  communities  known  in  history. 
In  the  short  interval  of  time,  between  the  Persian  inva- 
sion and  the  end  of  the  Pelopponesian  wars,  that  single 
city  produced  men  whose  works  have  come  down  as  the 
patterns  and  embodied  ideals  of  the  highest  excellence 
attainable  by  human  effort.  The  world  is  two  thousand 
years  older  now ;  but  what  orator  hopes  to  rival  Demos- 
thenes, or  historian  the  majestic  picture  Thucydides  has 
left  of  its  decline  ?  Who  now  reasons  like  Plato,  or,  with 
all  our  mechanical  improvements,  can  build  like  Pericles. 
I  believe  that  the  intelligence,  patriotism,  and  valor  of 
men  found  their  highest  exemplification  in  that  era,  and 
within  the  walls  of  Athens." 

"  I  think,"  said  Arthur  Kean,  "  the  Athenian  law  of 


Gower  Hall.  127 

Ostracism  a  sad  commentary  on  the  political  ethics  of  that 
people." 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you  in  that  matter,"  said  Judge 
Eustace.  "I  know,  very  well,  '  ostracism '  has  long  been 
a  favorite  theme  of  declamation  among  those  who  believe 
that  justice  and  gratitude  are  not  to  be  found  in  free 
governments.  When  we  consider  that  six  thousand 
secret  and  uncontrolled  voters  had  to  testify  their  con- 
viction that  some  political  leader,  by  the  ascendency  of 
his  talents  and  personal  influence,  had  become  dangerous 
to  the  State,  it  does  not  appear  an  unreasonable  thing, 
that  the  public  peace  should  be  kept  by  the  exile  of  one 
man  whose  ambition  and  power  endangered  all.  It  was 
not  resorted  to,  unless  two  or  more  leaders  became  so 
controlling  in  their  influence  that  a  large  portion  of  the 
citizens  believed  the  absence  of  some  of  them  conducive 
to  the  good  of  the  State.  Then  the  number  of  votes, 
required  for  expulsion  in  such  an  emergency,  made  it 
far  preferable,  in  my  opinion,  to  the  Roman  system  of 
settling  the  disputes  of  great  rival  claimants  of  the  public 
honors,  by  the  death  of  one  of  them,  as  in  the  case  of 
Tiberius  Gracchus,  or  b}r  ruinous  civil  war." 

"Still,  Judge  Eustace,"  said  Kean,  "we  must  admit 
there  was  something  wrong  in  the  banishment  of  Aris- 
tides.  There  must  have  been  a  great  evil,  somewhere, 
in  the  system  which  allowed  the  expulsion  of  a  man 
whose  enemies  could  only  allege  against  him  that  they 
were  tired  of  hearing  him  called  '  The  JusV  Plutarch 
says  the  whole  practice  arose  from  envy  and  malice,  in- 
herent in  democracy,  and  not  from  any  reasonable  and 
patriotic  fear  for  the  good  of  the  country." 

"  I  know  that  Plutarch  made  the  declaration  you  refer 


128  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

to,  but  I  think  his  statement  is  capable  of  easy  refutation. 
Ostracism  was  one  of  the  changes  introduced  by  Ciis- 
thenes,  after  the  expulsion  of  the  Pisistratidae,  to  protect 
the  immature  democracy,  which,  then  in  Athens,  as 
cotemporaneously  in  Rome,  needed  all  the  safeguards 
which  could  be  thrown  around  it.  The  violent  animosi- 
ties of  political  leaders  are  the  greatest  source  of  danger 
to  popular  governments.  I  do  not  believe  that  these 
leaders  in  any  species  of  rule  can  be  brought  to  respect 
the  lives  and  property  of  their  rivals,  or  the  constitutional 
protection  to  which  they  are  entitled.  Then,  it  is  obvious, 
when  the  prominence  and  violence  of  two  leaders  en- 
danger the  State,  it  is  better  that  one  should  yield  to  the 
superior  fortune  of  the  other.  Ca3sar  might  reasonably 
have  submitted  to  the  authority  of  the  Senate  in  Pompey's 
behalf;  Cromwell  might  have  spared  the  humbled 
Charles,  and  Robespierre  relented  toward  the  helpless 
Girondists  :  but  human  nature,  though  it  may  undergo 
the  mortification  of  political  defeat  for  a  long  time,  as  seen 
under  the  English  constitution  and  our  own,  at  last  finds 
conflicts  so  momentous  that  peace  becomes  impossible." 
"  I  would  not  advocate  the  introduction  of  ostracism 
here."  continued  Judge  Eustace,  "but  we  closely  imitate 
it  in  the  necessary  departure  from  office  of  the  chief 
executive  after  a  certain  term  of  service.  The  Athenians 
stripped  this  exile  of  all  loss  either  to  the  life  or  property 
of  the  victim,  and  it  could  fall  on  any  man  whom  the 
large  minority  thought  dangerous  to  the  public  weal. 
Aristides  himself,  in  his  memorable  contest  with  Themis- 
tocles,  recognized  the  wisdom  of  the  measure  when  he 
remarked  that  it  would  be  well  if  he  and  his  rival  were 
both  sent  into  banishment." 


Gotver  Hall.  129 

{-  Under  that  aspect  of  the  case,"  said  Kean,  "  it  is  less 
odious,  but  you  must  recollect  that  it  was  used  against 
the  unoffending  tutor  of  Pericles,  simply  because  philoso- 
phy was  unpopular." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Judge,  "  but  that  was  two  generations 
after  its  institution,  and  it  found  its  last  subject,  in  the 
case  to  which  you  refer.  Soon  after  that  the  city  was 
captured,  and  its  liberties  went  under  that  long  eclipse 
from  which  they  have  never  wholly  emerged." 

"  None  of  the  Greek  cities,"  said  Arthur  Kean,  "  with 
all  their  prosperity  as  autonomous  communities,  ever 
exhibited  much  genius  for  great  combinations.  The 
Spartan  and  Athenian  headships  over  the  Hellenic  States 
were  embittered  by  frequent  revolt,  and  though  their 
heroisoi  made  them  immortal  in  history,  they  never 
reached  the  statesmanship  which  cemented  the  world  in 
the  homogeneous  rule  of  Rome.  Nations  more  populous 
than  all  Greece  were  speedily  conquered  and  lost 
their  identity  in  the  pervading  nationality  of  the  ma- 
jestic empire.  Athens  was  unable  to  exercise  even  over 
the  despised  Beotians,  any  permanent  rule,  but  the 
countless  Gauls  were  held  for  centuries  to  unquestioning- 
obedience  by  the  mistress  of  the  world." 

"  Rome,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "  took  every  precaution 
to  secure  the  allegiance  of  her  conquered  tributaries,  whose 
gods  soon  found  niches  in  the  Pantheon  and  other  tem- 
ples of  the  imperial  city.  She  built  mighty  aqueducts, 
great  roads,  and  impregnable  citadels,  wherever  her  arms 
had  penetrated,  and  nothing  was  omitted  which  would 
overawe  the  seditious  or  gratify  the  contented.  On  the 
other  hand,  Athenian  supremacy  was  never  more  than 
her  hegemony  artfully  amplified  by  wrong.  This  was  so 
9 


130  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

» 

short-lived  that  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  might  have 
been  her  destiny,  if  the  issue  of  her  great  contest  had 
been  different." 

Philip  retired  to  his  bed,  full  of  plans  of  enjoyment  for 
the  Christmas  holidays.  The  joy  which  comes  to  every 
heart,  with  the  approach  of  that  festive  season,  kept  him 
awake  with  pleasant  anticipations.  The  house  was  to  be 
full  of  his  kindred  and  friends.  Col.  Stanhope  Eustace 
was  already  in  the  States,  and  was  to  be  at  Ellesmere  for 
the  first  time  in  several  years.  Philip  sighed  as  he 
thought  of  Mariana,  who  would  be  unable  to  see  the 
many  beautiful  things  he  knew  his  grandmother  would 
provide  for  the  festive  occasion,  and  then  he  remembered 
his  father,  lonely  in  his  great  house  at  the  capital,  chaf- 
ing at  his  self-assumed  fetters,  weary  of  his  great  burden, 
and  yet  unwilling  to  lay  it  down.  In  the  morning  of  his 
days,  this  young  boy  had  discovered  that  wealth  and 
the  pride  of  place  brought  with  them  much  of  compensat- 
ing misery.  But  health  and  youthful  strength  are  not 
often  wedded  to  sleepless  care,  and  Philip  was  soon  dream- 
ing of  the  rose-tinted  future  in  store  for  him. 


Christmas.  131 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CHRISTMAS. 

"The  churches  all  are  wreathed  with  green, 
The  altars  set  with  flowers, 
And  happy  lowly  hearts  wait  on, 
And  count  the  passing  hours ; 
Until  the  midnight  chimes  proclaim 
The  hallowed  season  come, 
When  Heaven's  broad  gates  are  opened  wide, 
And  Hell's  loud  roar  is  dumb."  —BothweU. 

Yuletide  had  come  to  Ellesmere,  and  the  old  mansion 
was  full  of  joyous  and  congenial  people.  The  bronzed 
and  long-expected  Col.  Stanhope  Eustace  had  reached 
the  place  of  his  nativity,  on  Christmas  eve,  and  his  fond 
mother  was  once  more  gratified  with  his  presence.  The 
soldier,  released  at  last  from  the  restraints  of  his  com- 
mand, gave  himself  up  to  a  full  enjoyment  of  the  sweet, 
home  comforts  and  smiling  welcome  he  saw  on  the  faces 
of  all  around  him.  He  and  Percival  St.  George,  being 
nearly  of  the  same  age,  had  always  been  friends,  and 
now,  after  their  long  separation,  were  full  of  pleasant 
communion.  They  were  bachelors,  and  had  in  this  an 
additional  bond  of  union.  Stanhope  had  a  tall,  martial 
figure,  with  much  of  his  father's  port  and  stature.  He 
had  the  grave,  commanding  appearance  which  habits  of 
military  control  impart,  but  was  full  of  geniality  and 
humor  with  his  friends.  He  lacked  his  brother's  briliant 
wit  and  fervid  feeling,  but  was  so  courtly  and  pleasant  in 
society,  that  it  was  hard  to  realize  that  he  had  spent 
nearly  half  his  life  in  frontier  duty  among  the  savages. 
He  had  graduated  at  West  Point  with  distinction,  and 


132  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

had  always  borne  the  reputation  of  a  brave  and  competent 
officer,  being  as  much  feared  in  his  command  by  those 
who  failed  to  perform  their  duty  as  he  was  beloved  by 
the  men  entitled  to  his  commendation. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Rosamond  were  at  Ellesmere  when 
Col.  Eustace  arrived.  Ida  Somerville  and  Mae  Glancy7 
two  young  ladies  of  the  neighborhood,  had  preceded 
them  ;  and,  about  sunset  on  Christmas  eve,  came  also  Col. 
Ridgely  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  Isabel ;  and,  shortly 
afterwards,  Frederick  Compton,  with  his  sister,  Edith. 
Ellesmere,  long  celebrated  for  its  graceful  hospitality,  was 
now  a  scene  of  unbounded  enjoyment.  Mr.  Grey  was  in 
his  glory.  No  one  could  be  more  delighted  with  the 
society  of  the  young,  and  such  was  the  ascendency  he 
speedily  gained  in  their  affections  that  mothers  had 
simply  to  tell  their  children,  when  disposed  to  be  ill- 
natured,  that  Mr.  Grey  should  know  of  it  to  bring  about 
at  once  a  restoration  of  good  behaviour.  The  earnest 
and  abstracted  man,  who  seemed  to  live  in  a  continual 
atmosphere  of  devotion,  was  gifted  with  a  rare  insight 
into  the  joys  and  griefs  of  the  young,  and  never  appeared 
to  grow  weary  of  their  company.  This  ascendency,  once 
obtained,  was  rarely  lost  with  advancing  years ;  and  there 
was  not  a  girl  or  boy  of  his  acquaintance  that  did  not 
make  him  their  confidential  adviser,  wherever  innocence 
and  perplexity  needed  tender  and  considerate  counsel. 
Col.  Ridgely  lived  at  the  country  seat  formerly  the  resi- 
dence of  unhappy  Ellice  Newton.  His  large  wealth  gave 
him  an  opportunity  of  indulging  his  taste  in  the  rearing 
of  improved  stock,  and  Knowlton  was  as  celebrated,  now, 
for  its  blood-horses  and  cattle,  as  it  was  once  for  the 
tragical  marriage  of  Archibald  Newton's  daughter.     Col. 


Christmas.  133 

Ridgely  was  delightful  on  all  festive  occasions,  and  had 
long  been  on  intimate  terms  with  the  family  at  Elles- 
mere.  His  daughter,  Isabel,  was  two  years  older  than 
Mariana,  and,  though  she  was  not  pretty,  was  yet  so  full 
of  gentleness  and  maidenly  decorum,  that  she  was  a 
general  favorite.  Mae  Glancy,  whose  father  lived  at  the 
foot  of  Satan's  Nose,  was  very  lovely,  with  her  flaxen 
ringlets  and  lustrous  blue  eyes.  She  was  a  fountain  of 
perpetual  joy,  and  seemed  at  no  time  to  loose  the  native 
sunshine  of  her  disposition,  for  care  and  serious  thoughts 
were  things  she  had  seen  in  others,  but  had  never  ex- 
perienced. Edith  Compton  was  of  the  same  age  as  Rosa- 
mond Courtenay,  and  her  opposite  in  every  respect.  She 
was,  in  appearance,  already  a  grown,  young  lady,  with 
light  eyes  and  hair,  handsome,  sprightly,  and  well 
acquainted  with  the  accomplishments  usually  to  be  ob- 
tained at  boarding  schools.  With  all  this,  she  was  utterly 
unacquainted  with  books,  except  those  she  had  used  at 
school,  and  the  few  late  novels  she  had  read.  She  hated 
seclusion  and  thought,  and  was  never  better  satisfied  than 
when  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  beaux.  On  such  occa- 
sions she  wras  singularly  gifted  with  conversational  power. 
Ida  Somerville  has,  already,  been  introduced,  and  needs 
no  further  commendation  of  her  beauty  or  the  admirable 
good  sense  she  always  exhibited.  Reginald  Vane  was 
also  a  guest  on  the  occasion. 

A  deep  snow  lay  upon  the  ground,  and  the  air  was 
bitter  cold  ;  but  the  yule  logs  glowed  in  the  great  fire 
places,  and  threw  their  generous  warmth  over  all,  irradi- 
ating into  new  beauty  the  bright  eyes  of  the  young  peo- 
ple, and  adding  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  more  elderly 
of  the  party.     Judge  Eustace  himself  joined  in  the  merry 


134  The  Valley  of  St.  Kilda. 

confusion  of  blind-man's-buff,  and  was  run  down  and  cap- 
tured by  Mae  Glancy,  who  cheated,  in  spite  of  all  pre- 
cautions to  the  contrary,  by  peeping  with  one  eye.  Huge 
bowls  of  egg-nogg  and  mulled  wine  lent  fresh  animation 
to  the  scene,  and  Mariana  made  music  for  the  dancers, 
until  late  in  the  night  on  Christmas  eve. 

Early  the  next  morning,  some  of  the  gentlemen  sallied 
out  in  search  of  a  stag  which  had  been  frequenting  the 
slashes  where  Thompson  was  so  badly  frightened  by  the 
greyhound.  The  huge  African,  being  indispensable  on 
such  occasions,  was  of  course  one  of  the  party.  They 
rode  past  the  beautiful  lake  in  the  park,  which  was  now 
a  sheet  of  ice.  Their  intention  was  to  drive  the  deer 
from  his  lurking  place,  and,  by  means  of  huntsmen 
taking  posts  and  awaiting  his  approach,  to  shoot  him  in 
his  flight ;  but  in  case  of  his  escape  in  the  direction  of 
the  mountains,  to  follow  on  horseback,  for  the  open  fields 
presented  abundant  opportunity  of  testing  the  speed  of 
the  high-mettled  hunters  against  that  of  the  animal  they 
were  seeking.  All  of  the  party,  with  the  exception  of  St. 
George  and  Thompson,  were  posted  on  the  probable  line 
of  his  retreat,  and  they,  having  passed  to  the  end  of  the- 
long  rushes  and  thickets  with  the  eight  dogs  kept  for  deer 
hunting,  commenced  the  drive.  Thev  soon  discovered 
traces  of  their  game,  for  he  had  been  moving  since  the 
last  fall  of  snow,  and  his  tracks  were  plainly  indented  in 
the  hardened  surface.  The  dogs,  too,  gave  unmistaken 
evidences  of  his  speedy  appearance ;  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments he  was  flying  in  the  direction  of  those  who,  in 
silence,  were  awaiting  his  coming.  The  weight  of  the  large 
buck,  combined  with  the  prodigious  leaps  he  was  taking, 
drove  his  sharp  hoofs  deep  into  the  snow  at  every  bound, 


Christmas.  135 

and  this  considerably  retarded  his  flight ;  but  on  he  sped, 
like  a  rocket,  until  the  report  of  Col.  Eustace's  rifle,  fol- 
lowed by  a  cry  of  terror  from  the  stag,  told  that  the  bullet 
had  taken  effect.  The  wound  did  not  prove  mortal,  and, 
turning  as  sharply  as  the  pursuing  hounds  would  allow, 
the  affrighted  victim  rushed  across  the  slashes  ;  but  here 
again  he  was  headed  off  by  Percival,  who  planted  a  second 
shot  in  his  side,  which  soon  perceptibly  decreased  the 
speed  of  his  flight.  The  two  stag  hounds,  Troubadour  and 
Tweed,  now  caught  sight  of  him,  and  were  soon  closing 
in  upon  the  desperate  fugitive,  as  he  stretched  awa}^  to- 
ward the  river.  They  pulled  him  to  the  ground,  a  little 
more  than  a  mile  from  the  spot  where  he  was  last  shot. 
The  party  soon  gathered  around  St.  George  and  Thomp- 
son, whose  position  had  enabled  them  to  reach  the  spot 
sooner  than  the  others.  The  stag  was  a  large  animal, 
whose  wide-spreading  antlers  evinced  full  maturity. 

'•  It  is  too  soon  to  break  up  a  hunt  so  bravely  begun,'' 
said  Reginald  Vane.  "  Suppose  we  cross  the  river  at 
Morton's  bridge.  I  can  show  you  some  glorious  sport 
around  the  foot  of  Sorrell's  Peak.  It  is  but  five  miles 
awa}7,  and  it  is  yet  so  early,  the  sun  has  scarcely  risen." 

"  What  say  you,  Stanhope?"  said  St.  George. 

"  Of  course  let  us  go.  I  suppose  it  will  be  all  right  if 
we  get  home  by  dinner." 

The  whole  party  having  given  their  consent,  they  at 
once  rode  to  Morton's  bridge,  and  were  soon  on  the  hunt- 
ing ground.  This  was  a  valley  between  Harcourt  Hill 
and  Sorrell's  Peak,  and  in  some  parts  was  densely  cov- 
ered with  brush.  From  its  sides  the  mountain  walls 
arose  in  almost  perpendicular  cliffs.  This  gorge  ran  back 
for  several  miles,  narrow  in  some  places,  and  in  others 


im  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

widening  into  broad,  well-timbered  vales.  To  hunt  the 
place  properly,  required  more  men  than  were  present  on 
this  occasion  ;  for  the  breadth  of  the  valley  was  such  at 
its  mouth,  that  it  required  at  least  twenty  men  abreast  to 
drive  all  the  game  toward  the  narrowest  point,  where  Col. 
Eustace,  Frederick  Compton  and  Arthur  Kean  concealed 
themselves,  and  were  lying  in  wait  for  the  expected  ani- 
mals. They  soon  heard  the  commencement  of  the  drive, 
for  the  huntsmen  and  hounds  seemed  vieing,  in  their 
noisy  demonstrations,  as  they  came  up  the  glade.  Per- 
cival,  Philip,  Vane  and  Thompson  were  doing  all  they 
could  to  frighten  the  unsuspecting  denizens  of  the  forest 
into  a  fatal  effort  to  pass  those  who,  with  loaded  guns, 
were  waiting  for  their  approach  in  the  narrow  defile. 
They  had  not  gone  far  before  Vane  had  killed  a  wild 
turkey.  About  the  same  time  the  dogs  gave  furious  chase 
to  an  animal  which  took  refuge  in  a  tree.  Philip  ap- 
proaching, discovered  a  wild  cat,  and  brought  it  to  the 
ground.  St.  George,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  bagged  three 
hares;  and  Thompson  soon  after  broke  out  into  a  tre- 
mendous yell,  proclaiming  that  he  had  seen  a  wolf.  The 
hounds  were  soon  in  hot  pursuit,  when  two  rifle  shots 
from  the  pother  party  announced  that  the  game  had 
reached  that  point.  These  discharges  drove  back  a  doe, 
which  was  killed  by  St.  George.  After  bagging  one  more 
hare,  the  drivers  ceased  firing,  for  fear  of  injuring  their 
friends.  When  they  reached  them,  they  found  that  Col. 
Eustace  had  slain  a  stag,  Arthur  Kean  a  wolf,  and  Fred- 
erick Compton  had  wounded  another.  Col.  Eustace, 
Philip  and  Thompson,  with  the  dogs,  now  left  the  re- 
mainder of  the  party  in  search  of  the  disabled  disturber 
of  the  sheep  folds,  whose  blood   on  the  snow  plainly  be- 


Christmas.  137 

trayed  the  direction  of  his  retreat.  They  soon  traced  him 
to  his  den  under  some  immense  rocks.  The  dogs  were 
urged  to  go  in,  but  speedily  retreated  in  dismay  at  the 
terrible  growls  that  arose  upon  their  darkening  the  en- 
trance of  his  cave.  Col.  Eustace  fired  into  its  mouth,  but 
failed  to  produce  any  effect,  more  than  a  repetition  of  the 
angry  notes  of  displeasure.  Thompson  now  offered  to 
go  down  and  shoot  the  wolf,  but  he  wTas  overruled  in  this 
on  account  of  its  danger,  and  the  impossibility  of  using  a 
rifle,  with  much  promise  of  success,  in  the  darkness  of 
the  cavern.  While  his  uncle  was  loading  his  rifle,  Philip 
with  his  revolver  crept  as  near  as  he  could,  and  peeping 
around  the  rock,  plainly  discovered  the  glaring  eyes  of 
the  wolf.  Leaning  over,  to  get  a  better  view,  he  fired  just 
below  the  light  of  the  sullen  eyes.  He  immediately 
sprang  hack  followed  by  the  enraged  wolf,  which,  though 
mortally  wounded,  had  still  enough  strength  to  have  man- 
gled him  terribly,  but  for  the  timely  interposition  of  the 
now  dauntless  Thompson.  He  had,  suspecting  Philip's  in- 
tention, followed  him, and  was  close  enough  to  strike  the 
wolf  across  the  loins  a  blow  with  his  gun,  such  as  the 
Titans  may  have  dealt  in  ancient  days,  for  it  broke  the 
heavy  piece  into  fragments,  and  instantly  dispatched  the 
furious  monster.  Col.  Eustace  had  not  observed  Philip's 
movements,  until  his  attention  was  called  by  the  report 
of  the  pistol.  He  sprang  to  the  rescue  of  his  nephew,  but 
was  forestalled  by  the  faithful  negro. 

"Bravely  done,  Thompson,"  said  he.  "This  is  the 
quickest  and  prettiest  work  I  have  seen  done  since  you 
slew,  with  an  axe,  the  bull  which  was  about  to  gore  my 
father  to  death." 

"  Mass  Phil,  did'n't  I  tell  you,  las  week,  when    you 


138  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

wanted  me  to  go  wid  you  to  Gower  Hall,  I  would  suffer 
death  afore  you  should  come  to  harm  ?" 

"You  did,  uncle  Thompson,  and  I  believe  you.  I 
never  intend  to  laugh  at  your  fears  of  ghosts  again. 
Your  blow  saved  me  from  a  worse  biting  than  I  care  to 
endure." 

"  Philip,  it  was  very  reckless  in  you  to  trust  to  a  pistol 
shot,  in  such  close  quarters,"  said  Col.  Eustace.  "  Your 
aim  was  remarkably  correct  under  the  circumstances, 
and  the  wolf  would  have  died  in  a  few  minutes.  I  should 
judge,  from  its  point  of  entry,  the  ball  must  have  reached 
and  passed  through  the  heart ;  yet  but  for  Thompson's 
interference  you  would  have  nevertheless  been  badly 
injured." 

The  sable  hero  having  shouldered  the  wolf,  they  re- 
joined the  party  awaiting  them,  and  at  once  returned 
toward  Ellesmere.  Every  horse  was  well  loaded  with  the 
captured  game,  and  each  huntsman  was  busily  engaged 
in  recounting  his  own  adventures.  Philip's  encounter 
with  the  wolf  astonished  no  one,  as  his  courage  and 
daring  were  well  known;  but  Thompson's  prompt  and 
intrepid  conduct  filled  Arthur  Kean  with  amazement; 
for  he  had  looked  upon  him  hitherto  as  a  mountain  of 
flesh  afraid  of  its  own  shadow.  He  thought  nature  had 
made  him  an  entire  coward  ;  but  when  Stanhope  Eustace 
told  how  a  furious  bull  had  once  overtaken,  and  was 
about  to  gore  his  father  to  death,  and  he  had  seen  the 
same  Thompson  fly  as  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  and  at 
a  blow  crush  the  massive  scull  of  the  enraged  animal, 
the  tutor's  respect  increased  to  admiration. 

"This  is  the  best  day's  hunting  I  have  seen  since  we 
were   boys,  Stanhope,"  said   Percival.      "  You   recollect 


Christmas.  139 

when  we  came  to  this  same  spot  with  Ashton,  Mr.  Somer- 
ville,  Col.  Ridgely,  and  others?" 

"  Considering  our  relative  force,  this  is  a  much  better 
day's  work.  I  have  never  seen  it  surpassed,  in  the  num- 
ber and  variety  of  game  captured  in  so  short  a  time  by  a 
small  party,  even  on  the  Plains." 

It  was  just  twelve  by  the  clock  when  they  reached  the 
house,  and  every  one  therein  came  out  to  behold  the 
trophies  of  the  morning's  chase.  The  ladies  were  full  of 
womanly  tremors  at  the  dead  wolves.  Thompson's 
prompt  heroism  inspired  Rosamond  and  Mariana  with 
such  gratitude  that  he  was  summoned  to  the  house,  and 
thanked  until  big  tears  of  joy  and  satisfaction  stood  in 
his  eyes.  He  was  fairly  loaded  down  with  the  many 
presents  with  which  they  and  Mrs.  Eustace  testified  their 
appreciation  of  the  value  of  his  service.  His  wife,  Nancy, 
was  standing  by,  and  her  round,  honest  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles  of  pleasure  at  her  husband's  increased 
favor. 

"  Mistiss,"  said  Thompson,  "  I've  got  another  Christmas 
gif  to  ax  you,  dis  morning." 
"  What  is  it,  Thompson  ?" 

"  I  wTant  you  to  tell  Nancy  how  improper  it  looks  for 
her  to  be  wantin'  in  respect  for  her  husband.  Now,  she's 
a  good  enough  wife,  but  she  don't  confidence  me  in  de 
matter  of  ghosts." 

"Nancy,"  said  Mrs.  Eustace,  "your  husband  has  this 
day  shown  himself  a  brave  and  true  man.  I  think  it 
wrong  for  you  to  laugh  at  him  about  anything  he  hon- 
estly believes." 

"  Mistiss,  nobody  in  de  world  couldn't  help  laughin'  at 
Thompson  t'other  night,  when  Sweetlip's  runned  him  into 


140  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

de  bed ;  but  T  aint  a  gwine  to  do  so  no  more,  now  he's 
whipped  a  wolf." 

Judge  Eustace  and  Stanhope  were  conversing  together 
in  the  library,  when  Percival  St.  George  came  in  and 
took  his  seat  in  the  cheerful  glow  of  the  Christmas  fire. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  young  people  wrere  in  the 
drawing-rooms. 

"  Father,"  said  Stanhope,  "  I  think  that  you  and  Ashton 
should  make  a  soldier  of  Philip.  I  have  never  seen 
greater  coolness  in  confronting  danger  than  he  has  ex- 
hibited to-day  in  his  affair  with  the  wolf.  I  was  loading 
my  gun  at  the  time,  and  the  first  intimation  I  had  of  his 
intention  was  the  firing  of  the  pistol,  swiftly  followed  by 
the  rush  of  the  animal  upon  him.  He  forbore  to  fire  a 
second  time,  as  soon  as  Thompson's  blow  was  stricken, 
and  returned  his  revolver  to  its  belt,  with  as  much  cool- 
ness as  if  his  dangerous  enemy  had  been  dead  a  month. 
Such  self-possession  in  the  presence  of  danger  should  be 
used  in  directing  military  movements,  and  I  hope  you 
will  get  him  an  appointment  to  the  next  class,  at  West 
Point." 

"  My  son,  I  shall  never  consent  to  Philip's  going  into  the 
army.  The  sacrifice  I  have  made  in  consenting  to  your 
remaining  so  long  absent  from  us,  is  enough,  without 
calling  upon  me  for  further  self-denial  in  this  matter. 
There  are  many  exigencies  in  civil  life  demanding  all 
the  courage  the  boldest  soldier  possesses,  to  sustain  the 
man,  who,  at  all  hazards,  resolves  to  sustain  the  right  and 
resist  the  wrong.  '  Peace  hath  her  victories  as  well  as 
war,'  and  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  of  any  instance  of  deter- 
mination in  my  grandson,  as  I  take  therefrom  fresh  as- 
surance that  he  can  never  be  driven  from  the  high  prin- 


Christmas.  141 

ciples  by  which,  I  am  persuaded,  he  is  now  actuated.  I 
hope  to  live  long  enough  to  see  in  him  a  man  alike  in- 
sensible to  the  seduction  of  persuasion  or  the  promptings 
of  terror.  The  greatest  men  are  sometimes  not  superior 
to  the  fear  of  bodily  harm  and  the  overawing  influence 
of  more  imperious  natures.  Then,  as  all-important  as  I 
know  individual  bravery  is  to  the  soldier,  it  is  equally 
valuable  to  the  quiet  citizen." 

"  I  regard  valor,"  said  Percival,  "as  more  the  result  of 
education  than  any  natural  effect  of  mere  temperament. 
Stanhope,  in  your  experience  have  you  observed  much 
difference  in  soldiers,  in  this  respect,  after  long  drill  and 
discipline?" 

"There  is  much  truth  in  your  suggestion,  Percy,  as  to 
the  efficacy  of  drill  and  obedience  to  command,"  said  the 
soldier."  "I  have  no  doubt  that  men,  who,  on  entering 
military  service,  are  often  full  of  fear  and  timidity,  be- 
come in  course  of  time  well  behaved  in  the  presence  of 
the  enemy.  A  new  principle  is  added  to  the  motives 
which  usually  control  individual  actions.  The  soldier's 
reliance  is  not  upon  single  effort  alone,  but  he  recognizes 
the  necessity  of  concerted  action.  The  fear  of  death  at  the 
enemy's  hands  is  equipoised  by  the  prospect  of  court- 
martial  and  execution,  if  he  behave  badly  in  the  face  of 
a  hostile  force  ;  then  the  habit  of  implicit  obedience,  with- 
out question  or  appeal  from  the  orders  he  receives,  effects 
whatever  is  wanting:  and  in  this  way  many  a  coward  be- 
comes trustworthy,  even  in  the  trying  emergency  of  the 
charge.  But  it  has  often  occurred  to  me  that  if  this  great 
improvement  can  be  wrought  in  him,  who  is  weak  and 
fearful  by  nature,  what  limit  is  there  to  the  capacity  of 
those  iron  nerves  that  always  seem  insensible  to  danger? 


142  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

Under  the  influence  of  habit  and  exposure,  they  rise  into 
an  atmosphere  of  indifference,  so  superior  to  any  fear  of 
death  that  they  become  positively  sublime  in  the  hour  of 
battle.  I  think  Philip  possesses  in  a  more  eminent  de- 
gree this  superiority  of  spirit  than  any  boy  I  have  ever 
seen,  and  for  this  reason  I  think  he  ought  to  be  made  a 
soldier." 

The  young  people,  with  Col.  Ridgely  at  their  head,  now 
came  in  from  the  drawing-rooms,  in  search  of  Mr.  Grey. 
They  wanted  his  services  in  some  scheme  of  amusement 
which  had  been  inaugurated  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
and  now  brooked  no  delay.  The  good  man  was  soon 
found  and  led  back  in  triumph  to  take  control  of  what 
was  to  follow.  Rosamond,  who  was  the  author  of  the 
new  suggestion,  proceeded  to  exclude  all  other  males  from 
the  room;  and  with  the  air  of  an  ancient  priestess  com- 
mencing some  hidden  and  awful  mystery  in  honor  of 
Eleusinian  Ceres,  forbade  the  approach  of  any  one  until 
the  preparatory  rites  were  completed.  After  some  delay, 
Philip  was  also  summoned  to  aid  the  deliberations,  and, 
at  the  close  of  a  half  hour,  a  scene  of  unexpected  beauty 
was  witnessed  in  one  of  the  drawing-rooms.  All  these 
had  been  darkened,  and  the  spectators,  looking  through 
the  doors,  beheld  the  floor  of  the  apartment,  used  as  a 
stage  in  the  representation,  so  covered  with  gorgeous 
plants,  borrowed  from  the  conservatory,  that  it  appeared 
as  a  blooming  garden  in  which  several  fairies  lay  fast 
asleep.  Rosamond,  as  their  queen,  with  a  magic  wand, 
walked  into  their  midst,  exclaiming: — 


"What!  sleeping  yet,  my  rosy  posies? 
Open  your  eyes  and  blow  your  noses." 


Christmas.  143 

At  these  words  the  beautiful  sleepers  arose,  and  the 
play  commenced.  Mae  Glancy  was  Beauty;  and  Philip, 
habited  in  an  old  wolf-skin,  played  the  part  of  the  Beast. 
Rosamond,  and  Mr.  Grey,  hidden  by  the  projecting  walls, 
did  all  the  talking  from  a  book ;  the  actors  in  sight  only 
going  through  the  pantomime.  In  this  way,  although 
the  idea  had  not  occurred  to  them  an  hour  before,  they 
managed  to  give  a  pretty  representation,  and  were  rap- 
turously applauded. 

The  lawn  at  the  rear  of  the  house  had  been  thronged 
all  day  with  negroes  from  Grafton  and  Blenheim,  who 
rarely  failed  to  visit  the  family  head-quarters  on  Christ- 
mas and  other  holidays.  Added  to  these  were  many  from 
Vaucluse,  and  Mrs.  Courtenay's  farms  ;  for,  by  long  inter- 
marriage between  the  different  estates,  a  large  and  inti- 
mate relationship  existed  among  the  servants,  many  of 
whom  preferred  wives  not  living  on  the  same  plantation 
with  themselves.  The  vast  majority  of  these  were  the 
descendants  of  those  brought  over  by  Sir'George  Eustace, 
and  they  valued  the  social  position  and  large  wealth  of 
his  posterity  as  something  reflecting  honor  on  them- 
selves. They  scorned  the  idea  of  marrying  into  the 
families  of  those  they  considered  people  of  less  considera- 
tion. The  heavy  thump  of  the  dancers  had  been  keeping- 
time  to  the  inspiriting  sounds  of  the  violin  and  banjo 
since  early  in  the  morning.  This  revel  was  going  on  in 
a  house  between  the  lawn  and  the  negro  quarters;  and 
from  its  recesses  were  heard  jigs  and  reels,  which,  to  less 
enthusiastic  dancers,  would  have  appeared  unconscion- 
ably long.  Some  were  engaged  in  uproarious  snow-ball- 
ing, but  such  amusements  were  mostly  confined  to  the 
younger  of  the  throng.      Old  men    and  women  valued 


144  The  Heirs  of  Si.  Kilda. 

more  highly  the  pleasure  to  be  obtained  in  warm  drams, 
and,  in  little  knots  around  their  fires  they  entertained 
their  visitors  with  voluble  discussions  of  almost  every 
imaginable  subject.  Thompson's  exploit  in  the  morning 
had  made  him  the  hero  of  the  day,  and  he  was  now  the 
admiration  of  all  his  sable  beholders,  in  the  new  apparel 
which  had  just  been  giveu  him.  He  moved  about 
through  the  crowd  the  picture  of  one  whose  fortune  has 
been  secured,  &nd  who  was  conscious  of  his  superiority 
over  all  those  around  him. 

At  length  the  great  event  of  the  day,  the  Christmas 
dinner,  was  announced.  The  dining  room,  like  other 
portions  of  the  house,  was  decorated  with  evergreens  for 
the  occasion,  and  the  bounty  of  the  table  gave  proof  of 
the  excellency  of  Mrs.  Eustace's  management. 

'•  How  could  you  have  the  heart  to  ask  so  long  a  bless- 
ing, Mr.  Grey,"  said  Mae  Glancy,  as  soon  as  the  good  man 
had  finished,  "when  these  redoubtable  huntsmen  are 
all  so  nearly  famished?" 

"  We  cannot  learn  too  many  lessons  of  patience,  my 
dear." 

"But  we  are  commanded  in  the  Bible  to  feed  the 
hungry;  and  I  know  from  Philip's  appearance  he  was 
wishing  all  the  while  for  you  to  stop.  Rosamond,  we 
must  not  interrupt  these  Nimrods,  by  conversation,  in 
their  first  attack  on  Mrs.  Eustace's  viands." 

"  Miss  Glancy,  I  waut  to  make  a  truce  with  you  for  the 
next  half  hour,"  said  Philip,  "and  I  will  agree  not  to 
tell  how  you  were  frightened  by  the  calf." 

"  I  don't  care  for  that  stoiw.  I  confess  I  thought  that 
the  black  calf,  which  had  accidently  gotten  into  the  lawn, 
was  a  bear,  and  left  you  to  cover  my  retreat." 


Christmas.  145 

'"  Oh  !  Mae  Glancy,"  said  Rosamond,  "  why,  just  to  think 
of  you — the  bravest  of  all  girls,  running  from  a  little 

calf!" 

"  Well,"  said  Mae,  "  I  am  at  least  not  afraid  of  a  grass- 
hopper, and  there  is  one  young  lady  of  my  acquaintance 
can't  say  as  much." 

"  Now  she  is  referring  to  me,"  said  Belle  Ridgely.  "  I 
was  really  much  frightened,  one  night  last  summer,  when 
she  was  with  me  at  Knowlton.  We  had  retired,  but  I 
could  not  sleep,  and  I  distinctly  heard,  as  I  thought,  foot- 
steps in  our  room.  I  awoke  Mae,  and  on  making  a  light 
found  that  it  was  a  large  grasshopper,  which  was  jump- 
ing about  on  the  floor,  and  making  a  noise  very  similar 
to  footsteps.  She  has  teased  me  unmercifully  about  my 
cowardice  ever  since." 

"She  need  say  nothing  to  you,  Miss  Belle,"  said  Philip, 
"for  she  not  only  ran,  but  shouted  most  lustily  for  help 
against  the  terrible  black  calf  she  had  conjured  into  a 
beast  of  prey.  I  am  not  astonished,  however,  at  her  ter- 
ror of  bears,  for  we  are  told  that,  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion, they  have  been  instruments  of  punishment  to> 
wicked  children." 

"Excellent!    Philip,"    said   Edith   Compton.     Mae,  Ii 
think  you  had  better  make  a  truce." 

"  Col.  Eustace,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  "  can  you  tell  us  how 
and  where  you  ate  your  last  Christmas  dinner?" 

"  I  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  Fort  Pierre,  with  two 
squadrons  of  my  regiment.  w^e  made  our  dinner  on 
buffalo  hump  and  tongues.  We  were  in  the  midst  of 
the  Sioux  country,  and  had  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout,  for 
fear  of  treachery  and  surprise." 

"  How  do  you  like  bear  steaks,  Stanhope?"  said  Perci-r 
10 


146  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

val.  "  I  am  at  a  loss  to  say  which  is  the  better,  the  steak 
or  this  delicious  venison." 

"  To  my  taste,"  said  Col.  Ridgely,  "  these  blue  teals, 
which  Philip  shot  in  the  lake,  are  superior  to  any  game 
I  have  seen  for  a  long  time." 

"  Col.  Ridgely,"  said  Mrs.  Eustace.  "  what  do  you  think 
of  the  comparative  merits  of  wild  and  tame  turkeys? 
Percival  and  Philip  prefer  the  former,  but  Judge  Eustace 
and  myself  agree  in  ascribing  superior  delicacy  of  flavor 
to  the  domesticated  fowl." 

"I  am  of  the  same  opinion,  madam.  I  have  noticed  a 
dryness  in  the  flesh  of  the  wild  fowl,  which  makes  it  in- 
ferior to  those  reared  about  our  barn  yards." 

"You  will  find  some  canvas-backs  and  mallards  in 
your  front,  Reginald,"  said  Mrs.  Eustace.  "  They  ought 
to  maintain  their  ascendency,  for  they  are  dressed  with 
.Lynn-Haven  oysters." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  cousin,  Miss  Helen  and  myself  duly 
appreciate  them." 

"  I  do  not  believe  the  Roman  dish  of  peacock's  tongues 
was  half  equal  to  this  chicken  salad,"  said  Arthur  Kean. 

';  What  epicures  and  spendthrifts  the  Romans  must 
have  been  !"  said  Mr.  Grey.  "  Plutarch  says,  that  on  one 
occasion  Pompey  and  Cicero  casually  met  Lucullus  in 
the  Forum,  and  promised  to  dine  with  him,  in  case  he 
would  make  no  further  preparation  for  the  banquet  ;  for 
they  well  knew  his.  expenditures  on  such  occasions  were 
enormous.  He  simply  remarked  to  one  of  his  servants 
.that  the  meal  should  bespread  in  his  Apollo-room.  That 
evening,  wrhen  the  three  men  lay  down  to  the  feast,  the 
viands  before  them  had  cost,  no.  less  than  nine  thousand 
,  dollars/' 


Christmas.  147 

"  What  a  good,  lazy  time  those  old  people  had,  lying 
down  to  eat  and  drink,"  said  Mae  Glancy. 

"  Philip,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  am  delighted  with  your 
arrangement  of  the  red  fox  in  his  cage  ;  it  is  really  very 
pretty.  Hubert,  as  I  supposed,  was  very  indignant;  and 
I  was  fearful  he  would,  in  his  anger,  break  the  glass  case  : 
but  he  now  lies  for  hours  gazing  at  what  he  deems  his 
enemy." 

"  I  am  glad  its  pleases  you  ;  hut  Mr.  Kean  is  entitled 
to  the  honor  of  the  arrangements.  The  glass  eyes,  and 
attitude  of  attention,  with  the  uplifted  brush,  is  a  life-like 
representation  of  Reynard's  habits  before  we  captured 
him." 

"Col.  Eustace,  did  you  engage  in  buffalo  hunting- 
while  on  the  western  plains?"  said  Mrs.  Ridgely. 

"As  much,  madam,  as  my  duties  would  allow.  It  is  a 
wild  and  exciting  amusement,  and  indispensable  when 
we  once  get  beyond  the  pale  of  civilization,  and  are  con- 
tinually moving,  as  was  the  case  with  myself.  Our  supply 
wagons  go  so  slowdy  that  it  is  impossible  to  keep  them 
up  with  rapid  cavalry  movements,  and  we  rely,  mainl}-, 
for  subsistence  on  the  vast  herds  of  buffalo.  In  this  way, 
we  are  compelled,  sometimes,  to  hunt  a  great  deal." 

"  Stanhope,"  said  Mrs.  Eustace,  "  what  society  do  you 
find  away  out  there?" 

"  We  tee  nobody  but  Indians  and  trappers,  except  when 
•about  the  principal  forts  we  sometimes  meet  with  the 
families  of  the  married  officers." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mariana,  "  that  such  a  life  is 
throwing  away  the  best  opportunities  of  existence.  I  well 
know  '  There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods,'  but  I 


148  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

should  always  seek  it  in  the  neighborhood  of  civilized 
people." 

"Your  impression  is  a  very  common  one,"  said  Stan- 
hope, "  with  persons  unacquainted  with  the  wild  inde- 
pendence and  freedom  from  restraint  on  the  plains,  which 
is  so  fascinating  to  those  accustomed  to  it.  In  addition 
to  this,  there  is  a  necessity  that  military  protection  should 
be  granted  to  the  new  settlements  which  are  constantly 
advancing  westward.  We  are  forced  to  keep  a  portion  of 
the  army  there  to  overawe  the  roving  bands  of  Indians, 
who  would  otherwise  massacre  the  unprotected  whites. 
We  soon  learn  to  relish  the  untrammeled  freedom  of  the 
prairies;  and  there  are  many  solitary  trappers  in  that 
region  who  feel  crowded  by  the  approach  of  a  white  man 
within  fifty  miles  of  their  lonely  lodges." 

"  Duty  hallows  everything/'  said  the  beautiful  blind 
girl,  "and  in  that  aspect  of  the  case,  I  should  submit 
quietly  to  my  fate,  were  I  a  man  who  should  live  there ;, 
but  what  a  privation  it  must  be  to  those  who  can  appre- 
ciate the  delights  of  the  home  circle  !" 

When  the  party  left  the  table,  the  sun  had  disappeared 
behind  the  mountains,  and  as  the  sky  had  been  overcast 
with  leaden-hued  clouds,  usually  seen  about  Christmas- 
times,  his  jocund  visage,  until  'a  few  minutes  before  his 
departure  for  the  day,  was  unseen;  but  as  night  came  onr 
the  heavens  became  for  a  time  clear,  and  the  cold,  white 
moon  looked  down  from  her  starry  pathway,  and,  with 
the  help  of  the  snow,  brought  into  broad  illumination 
everything  in  reach  of  her  silvery  rays.  Sounds  of  en- 
joyment still  came  in  undiminished  volume  from  the 
scene  of  the  negro  revel.  Fresh  fires  had  been  built ; 
and  Mrs.  Eustace  had   sent  them  a  supply  of  candles. 


Christmas.  149 

They  were  evidently  making  a  night  of  it •;  and  the  fun 
was  becoming  fast  and  furious,  when  Thompson  an- 
nounced that  the  feast,  which  had  been  so  long  in  prep- 
aration for  them,  was  now  ready.  This  greatly  thinned 
the  ranks  of  the  dancers  ;  but  the  few  who  persevered  in 
their  worship  of  the  graces  were  gradually  recruited, 
until  the  large  room  became  as  crowded  as  ever.  The 
gentlemen  in  the  library  were  enjoying  their  smoke,  and 
their  faces  were  lit  up  with  that  delightful  glow  which  is 
only  seen  after  the  enjoyment  of  a  good  dinner. 

"  Philip,  Tempest  is  looking  as  well  now  as  he  did  at 
the  races,"  said  Col.  Ridgely.  "  Thompson  certainly  does 
not  let  him  suffer  for  want  of  attention.'" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Philip.  "  I  am  trying  to  get  him  in 
such  a  condition  that  he  will  go  still  lower  in  the  '  forties' 
next  year." 

"  His  time  in  the  race  with  Pepin,"  said  Percival,  "  was 
a  little  behind  the  reported  performances  of  Flying 
Childers  and  Eclipse,  but  as  good  as  that  of  an\r  other 
horse  on  record.  I  think  you  unreasonable  in  expecting 
much  more  than  he  has  alread}r  done." 

"  How7  has  Hildebrand  recovered,  Mr.  St.  George?"  said 
Col.  Ridgely.  "  I  hear  you  have  hopes  of  his  complete 
restoration.'" 

"  No,"  answered  Percival,  "  not  such  a  cure  as  will  ever 
return  him  to  the  turf;  but  I  was  mistaken  as  to  the 
nature  of  his  injury.  Instead  of  his  letting  down  by 
stretching  the  main  leader,  the  trouble  was  in  the  coffin 
joint.  He  moves,  at  moderate  gaits,  with  comparative 
ease;  but  I  shall  never  let  him  run  the  risk  of  a  similar 
disaster  by  racing  again." 

"  I  think   you  are  right  in   that,  Percival,"  said  Col. 


150  The  Heirs  of  St.  KiMa. 

Eustace.  "  Hildebrand  has  made  reputation  enough, 
and,  being  nine  years  of  age,  was  an  old  horse  for  the  turf 
at  the  time  of  his  mishap.  I  think  the  continuation  of 
the  blood  of  such  a  horse  a  superior  consideration  to* 
the  mere  satisfaction  of  additional  triumphs." 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  that  such  acci. 
dents  should  befall  the  noble  creatures  in  their  races.  I 
cannot  see  any  material  objection  to  these  contests,  as- 
conducted  at  St.  Kilda,  beyond  the  great  exactions  which 
sometimes,  though  rarely,  I  admit,  disable  them." 

"  There  is  scarcely  a  position  in  life  that  is  free  from 
accident,"  said  Col.  Ridgely.  "  Horses  become  injured  on 
the  highway,  in  the  pasture,  in  the  plow,  and  in  the 
stable.  I  cannot  see,  then,  how  this — the  noblest  of  human 
amusements — can  be  amenable  to  the  imputation  of  cru- 
elty,  simply  because  a  rider  is  occasionally  thrown,  or  a. 
horse  disabled  on  the  course." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Col.  Ridgety,"  said  Arthur  Kean, 
"that  there  is  no  immorality  in  the  testing  of  the  speed 
of  trained  animals;  and  I  think  there  is,  in  the  properly 
conducted  theatre,  another  instance  of  unthinking  con- 
demnation in  which  many  people  are  honestly  mistaken. 
I  consider  well-sustained,  dramatic  representations  the 
largest  and  most  reasonable  of  human  pleasures,  which 
can,  with  any  propriety,  come  under  the  general  designa- 
tion of  amusement;  but  I  am  unwilling  to  lower  the 
dignity  of  these  stately  reproductions  of  what  genius  has 
created  to  the  idea  of  mere  pastime.  Conducted  as  it 
should  be,  the  stage  would  become  one  of  the  most  potent 
engines  in  the  reach  of  christian  philanthropy  for  elevat- 
ing the  hearts  and  minds  of  the  people." 

"  Yes,"  said   Mr.  Grey,.  "  but  your  limitations  are  so- 


Christmas.  151 

important,  Mr.  Kean,  that  I  fear  the  theatre,  as  you  would 
have  it,  is  impossible,  simply  because  it  is  well  nigh 
hopeless  to  expect  moral  actors  or  the  presentation  of 
unexceptionable  plays.  If  you  have  ever  known  such  an 
institution  which  could  be  considered  well  conducted  you 
have  seen  what  we,  at  least,  do  not  possess  in  this  country." 

"That  is  very  true,"  said  Kean.  "There  are  many 
actors  who  disregard  their  moral  duties,  and  plays  are 
often  presented  thai  should  never,  for  a  moment,  have 
been  tolerated  on  the  stage:  but  what,  may  I  ask,  has 
produced  this  state  of  affairs  ?  I  believe  it  is  the  eon  se- 
quence of  the  fact  that  most  decent  people  refuse  all 
countenance  to  an  institution  which  they  are  unable  to 
suppress,  and  which  they  denounce  as  an  enemy  to  the 
best  interest  of  man.  They  leave  the  patronage  and 
management  of  the  whole  thing  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  are  either  grossly  immoral  or  entirely  indifferent  on 
the  subject;  and  in  this  way  managers  are  induced  to 
select  plays  that  would  never  be  introduced  under  hap- 
pier auspices.  The  mutual  hatred  that  grew  up  between 
the  old  Puritans  of  England  and  the  lovers  of  the  stage, 
after  the  Restoration,  was,  to  my  mind,  one  of  the  most 
deplorable  and  unnecessary  feuds  that  have  injured  the 
cause  of  religion  and  popular  education." 

"Acting,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "is  after  all  nothing 
more  than  declamation  in  costume  by  one  or  more  per- 
sons. It  is  clearly  not  wrong  to  listen,  when  the  piece 
recited  is  neither  immoral  nor  libellous.  If  the  subject 
matter  is  unobjectionable,  the  question  further  arises,  how 
can  the  character  of  the  declaimer  enter  into  the  merits 
of  the  case?  Clearly,  as  Mr.  Grey  has  already  intimated, 
in   the   fact  that  you  sustain  an  institution  which  pro- 


152  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

duces  bad  effects  on  the  men  who  constitute  its  corps* 
dramatique.  I  think,  with  Mr.  Kean,  that  if  societ}'  is 
going  to  sustain  the  theatre,  it  is  the  duty  of  its  good 
members  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  expunge  or  banish 
entirely  objectionable  plays,  and  reform,  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, the  character  of  the  artists  who,  in  spite  of  us,  will 
continue  to  amuse  our  people.  I  can  say  truly  I  have 
enjoyed  myself  as  much  in  the  frequent  representations 
of  Hamlet  which  I  have  seen,  as  in  other  merely  intel- 
lectual amusements.  Where  persons  of  proper  character 
play  such  a  drama,  I  see  no  reasonable  objection  to  wit- 
nessing it." 

"  The  war  waged  by  th-e  Puritans  and  their  posterity 
against  the  stage,"  said  Percival  St.  George,  "  seems  to  me 
as  senseless  as  their  condemnation  of  the  most  harmless 
of  other  pleasures.  The  parliament  of  1652,  by  regular 
enactment,  denounced  the  observation  of  Christmas  as 
heathenish,  and  declared  the  festival  thereafter  abolished." 

"Cromwell  and  his  followers  made  many  mistakes," 
said  Judge  Eustace,  "  but  they  were  pious,  God-fearing 
men,  and  as  thoroughly  in  earnest  in  what  they  professed 
as  any  who  have  lived  in  the  last  ten  centuries.  We  must 
honor  their  zeal,  however  much  we  dissent  from  their 
conclusions." 

The  ladies  now  came  in,  and  soon  the  organ  was  swell- 
ing with  the  burden  of  music  which  seemed  ever  majestic, 
when  the  blind  maiden  made  it  the  exponent  of  her 
emotions.  At  Rosamond's  request,  Mariana  improvised, 
and  all,  whose  musical  cultivation  enabled  them  to  ap- 
preciate her  combinations  and  transitions,  sighed  as  she 
left  the  empyrean  heights  of  her  own  fancy  to  give,  with 
the  full  strength  of  the  instrument,  the  march  in  William 


Christmas.  153 

Tell.  This  was  succeeded  by  passages  from  the  sacred 
operas.  "  I  know  thai  my  Redeemer  livelh"  followed,  and  in 
the  grand  symphony  she  became  as  one  inspired,,  and 
a  glow  of  angelic  joy  was  on  her  beautiful  face  as  she  left 
the  instrument. 

"Philip,"  said  Rosamond,  "do  look  at  Mariana!  She 
is  so  unearthly  in  her  beauty,  I  should  scarcely  be  sur- 
prised to  see  her  translated  before  our  eyes.  As  much  as 
I  love  her,  I  am  always  awed  when  she  is  at  the  organ.'' 

"  Mariana  is  a  great  mystery  to  me,"  said  Philip.  "  She 
is  the  most  saintly  spirit  I  have  ever  known,  and  has 
always  been  so  from  infancy  ;  yet,  this  angel  of  light  is 
blind.  She  is  so  gentle,  and  loving,  that  never  in  my 
life  do  I  remember  to  have  experienced  any  but  the 
tenderest  affection  for  her.  Still,  there  are  times  when  I 
feel  the  same  awe  that  you  describe.  Rosamond,  she  is 
so  unlike  any  one  else  I  have  ever  known,  I  sometimes 
fear  God  will  take  her  from  us." 

"  Do  not  be  so  gloomy,  dear  Philip,"  said  the  warm 
hearted  girl.  "  I  believe  the  angels  watch  over  Mariana, 
and  I  shall  always  love  you  better  for  your  affection  to 
her." 

"Will  you,  sweetheart?"  said  he,  and  putting  back  the 
lustrous  tresses  that  fell  black  as  midnight  over  the  broad, 
white  brow,  he  touched  it  with  his  lips. 

Though  Rosamond  had  been  taught  all  her  life  that 
her  relatives  expected  her  some  day  to  be  Philip's  wife, 
she  now  felt,  for  the  first  time,  the  great  passicn  of  love 
dawn  on  her  heart.  She  had  been  a  careless,  affectionate 
girl,  an  hour  before,  but  now,  as  if  by  magic,  she  had 
become  transformed  into  a  new  being.  She  loved  and 
recognized  the  great  alteration  that  had  been  wrought  in 


154  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

her  heart.  Henceforth  every  thought  blended  with  the 
sense  of  duty  that  she  should  be  constantly  doing  some- 
thing to  add  to  her  fitness  for  being  the  helpmeet  of  her 
ideal  of  a  brave,  true  man.  To  her  Philip's  3routh  seemed 
to  have  passed  by  with  the  birth  of  her  new-found  pas- 
sion, and  her  imagination  carried  him  forward  into  man- 
hood as  speedily  as  the  old  Greek  myth  had  created 
Pallas  from  the  brain  of  Jove.  She  stood  by  her  cousin, 
mantled  with  new  beauty,  which  was  remarked  by  all  the 
jo}Tous  groups  as  they  revelled  in  the  warm  glow  of  the 
lamps  and  the  great  Christmas  fires. 


Rosamond's  Story.    •  155 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Rosamond's  story. 


••  Not  to  be  with  you,  not  to  see  your  face, 
Alas  for  me  then,  my  good  days  are  done." 

— Idyls  of  (lie  King. 

As  the  mystic  hours  of  nature  drew  near,  the  scene 
from  the  library  at  Ellesmere  was  a  picture  of  human 
felicity.  The  different  drawing-rooms  could  be  seen  like 
some  lovely  vista  from  that  apartment  and  were  occupied 
by  the  scattered  groups.  Through  the  folding  doors  each 
beaming  face  and  graceful  form  was  visible  to  Judge 
Eustace  and  his  martial  son  as  they  stood  conversing 
beneath  the  chandelier.  Mr.  Grey  and  Col.  Ridgely  had 
resumed  their  discussion  as  to  the  ethics  of  racing.  Mr. 
Kean  and  the  married  ladies  formed  another  party. 
Frederick  Compton  and  Mae  Glancy  were  deep  in  a 
flirtation.  Vane  and  Miss  Temple  seemed  oblivious  of 
human  ills.  St.  George,  Belle  Ridgely  and  Mariana  had 
joined  Philip,  who  was  talking  to  Rosamond,  Edith 
Compton  and  Ida  Somerville. 

"  Rosamond,"  said  St.  George,  "  I  will  go  and  get  your 
harp — you  promised  to  get  ready  the  airs  for  this  occa- 
sion." 

"  Ah,  cousin  Percy,  I  fear  you  will  all  get  weary  of  my 
story." 

"  No,  Rosamond,"  said  Mariana,  "  do  sing  it  for  us." 

"Pray  do,"  said  Ida,  "you  will  recall  Corinne  in  the 
Capitol." 

"  Rosamond  never  fails  in  her  promises,"  said  Philip. 


156  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  My  poor  little  Ethel  is  a  sad  story  for  so  joyous  an 
audience,"  said  the  queenly  maiden  as  the  occupants  of 
the  other  rooms  drew  near.  Her  eyes  grew  glorious  with 
inspiration  and  her  lithe  form  assumed  a  wondrous 
grace,  as  with  rich,  passionate  voice  she  began  the  sad  > 
dreamy  measure  with  which  the  poem  opened.  It  was  as 
follows: — 

Yon  little  dream,  whose  kindly  eyes, 

Have  marked  St.  Kilda's  wild  confines, 
What  tender  light  is  in  the  skies, 

And  o'er  the  misty  landscape  shines  ; 
Whern  waters  fair,  like  silver  spread, 

Lie  land-locked  in  a  nestling  bay  ; 
"While  low,  soft  hills  and  belting  mead. 

Surround  the  village  of  St.  Braix. 

A  distant  headland  miles  away, 

Across  the  tranquil  water  frowns, 
Just  where  the  ocean's  mighty  sway, 

At  last  has  met  with  metes  and  bounds  ; 
For  through  that  narrow  strait  the  wind, 

No  more  endangers  ship  or  life; 
The  stormy  waves  with  fury  blind, 

There  find  a  limit  to  their  strife. 

There  high  in  air  with  red  and  gold, 

Flung  Vide  o'er  wastes  of  water  'round, 
The  light-house  stands  a  beacon  bold. 

And  is  each  night  with  glory  crowned  ; 
For  when  on  fast  despairing  e}res. 

The  splendor  of  those  lamps  is  shed, 
They  know  that  safety  near  them  lies, 

And  danger  has  already  fled. 

Here,  purpling  in  the  distant  AVest, 

A  range  of  mountains  rising  high, 
Are  haunted  by  broad  belts  of  mist. 

And  blush  with  hues  of  softest  dye  ; 
And  nearer  hills  with  crest  and  side. 

In  blue,  and  brown  and  burnished  gold, 
Grow  fairer  and  are  glorified 

With  sunset's  beauty  o'er  them  rolled. 

The  village  with  its  leafy  bowers, 

O'erlooks  green,  meadow  vistas  far. 
From  which  is  borne  the  breath  of  flowers, 

Upon  the  gladsome  morning  air. 


Rosamond's  Story.  157 

They  lie  along  the  dreamy  bay, 

Which  reaches  near  the  mountain  side, 
With  scattered  islands  on  the  way, 

Like  jewels  on  the  listless  tide. 

The  dark  old  church  with  ivied  tower, 

Stands  highest  in  the  tranquil  scene, 
Its  ancient  clock  each  passing  hour. 

Still  surely  gives  with  pealing  din  ; 
The  grassy  streets,  the  silence  deep, 

Are  emblems  of  good  so  ids  at  ease, 
As  peacefully  the  shadows  creep, 

And  liglitly  goes  and  comes  the  breeze. 

No  bus}'  mart  of  trade  is  here, 

A  seaside  village,  sweet  St.  Braix, 
Goes  softly  on  from  year  to  year, 

Where  loit'ring  tourists  love  to  stray  ; 
But  her  bold  seamen  oft  are  seen, 

Far  as  the  ocean  spreads  her  wave, 
And  in  renown  they  Ion;?  have  been, 

For  goodly  ship  and  voyage  brave. 

The  moon  is  up  :  across  the  sea, 
A  belt  of  silver,  splendidly, 
Encircles  ocean's  weary  breast, 
With  winds  asleep  and  waves  at  rest ; 
As  if  'twere  pathway  fairy-wrought, 
Or  that  which  came  in  blessed  thought, 
To  that  lone  man  serene  and  mild, 
Who  visions  saw  on  Patmos  isle. 
There  from  the  lighthouse  gleaming  far, 
The  glory  of  some  mighty  star, 
'Twould  seem  was  burning  high  in  air, 
Like  that  upon  the  world's  despair, 
When  on  that  eastern  plain  of  old, 
Such  splendor  on  the  shepherds  rolled, 

'Twas  deep  midsummer,  and  the  night 
So  passing  fair  to  mortal  sight, 
Had  just  enough  of  gentle  breath 
To  stir  the  aspen's  restless  leaf, 
And  waft  perfume  from  folded  flowers, 
As  gaily  sped  those  stai'ry  hours. 
And  there  were  two  who  sat  enthralled. 
That  gracious  eve,  for  duty  called, 
And  with  the  morrow's  rising  sun 
The  lover  must  with  ship  be  gone. 

The  tower's  great  shadow  at  their  feet, 
Fell  where  immortelles  blooming  sweet, 
By  loving  hands  Avere  planted  there, 
Upon  the  grave  of  infant  fair. 


158  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kiida. 


They  both  were  young,  and  life's  rich  bloom 
'Twould  seem  found  little  cause  for  gloom; 
But  on  the  black-eyed  sailor's  brow, 
A  tinge  of  sorrow  rested  low. 

His  gaze  hart  left  fair  Ethel's  face, 

The  shadow's  course  he  then  did  trace. 
"  I  see,  dear  one,"  he  softly^  said. 

As  they  sat  there  where  rest  the  dead  ; 
"An  omen  in  this  shadow  thrown. 

Upon  us  from  \on  lifeless  stone  ; 

Tnis  voyag  ■  long  0:1  which  I  go, 

I  fear  may  bring  us  some  deep  woe. 

Dark  dreams  have  haunted  me  in  sleep, 

I  hoped  this  shade  Would  bv  us  creep  ; 

But  lo  !  it  falls  upon  us  b'lth, 

Some  grief  awaits  oiu-  plighted  troth. 

Perhaps  'tis  weakness  after  all. 

And  meaningless  they  yet  may  fall  ; 

These  phantoms  of  mysterious  lvght, 

That  vanish  with  th  •  morning's  light. 

But  Ethel  you  are  grown  so  dear, 

My  own  fond  heart  suggests  its  fear; 

You  are  so  rich  in  beauty's  dower. 

So  like  some  tall,  surpassing  flower, 

That  overflows  all  hearts  and  eyes, 

And  yet  so  quickly  from  us  flies, 

Oil  God  !  why  not  in  wisdom  vast ; 

When  much  was  made  always  to  last; 

Was  this  the  crowning  glory  given, 

Not  made  to  last  as  yonder  heaven  ?" 

The  deep,  impas-ioned  voice  was  still, 

And  sent  to  Ethel's  heart  a  thrill. 

Of  fear  that  long  hid  been  her  own. 

And  which  she  could  not  then  disown. 

The  moon-light  streamed  on  her  drooped  head, 

It  seemed  that  voice  from  her  had  fled, 

And  in  her  eyes  the  tear-drop-:  shone. 

Like  jewels  'neath  that  radiant  moon. 
"  Oh  stay  with  me  and  leave  this  life, 

Where  Death  and  hanger  are  so  r.fe,'' 

She  >aid,  and  kneeling  at  his  feet, 

Uplifted  eyes  so  sadly  sweet, 

That  heart  not  made  in  such  a  mold. 

Had  done  whate'er  they  might  have  told. 

"  Nay,  darling  ;  duty  calls  me  th  ~vs, 
And  b  ■  my  voyage  foul  or  fair, 
I  shrink  not  from  the  life  I've  known, 
But  when  upon  the  ocean  gone. 
By  all  the  love  that  swells  my  heart. 
Be  .still  mine  own  though  now  we  part, 


Rosamond's  Story.  159 

I  swear  by  all  my  hopes  of  heaven, 
The  pledge  of  love  to  you  I've  given, 
Shall  sacred  be — come  weal,  come  woe, 
Oh  Ethel  can  you  tell  me  so?" 
And  she  still  kneeling,  quick  replied, 
"  As  I  do  hope  but  as  your  bride, 
I'll  ever  live  while  life  remains, 
And  even  on  celestial  plains — 
1  know  that  God  will  nor  unbind, 
The  ties  that  make  me  wholly  thin "." 

'Twas  morn,  and  from  out  of  the  golden  East, 

The  first  bright  glance  of  the  sun  was  cast ; 

And  then  in  an  hour  from  the  goodly  bay, 

The  stout  Victoriin'  must  be  on  her  way. 

She  lay  at  the  pier,  with  her  prow  to  the  sea, 

The  tloodtide  was  making  so  full  and  so  f  ee, 

That  she  had  to  sail  for  those  far  distant  lands. 

Where  broad  rivers  flow  over  gold- 1  ear' ng  sands. 

The  cantain  had  parted  with  sweetest  farewell, 

From  Ethel   who  loved  him  surpassingly  well  ; 

And  then  while  the  sobs  of  wive-;  on  the  pier, 

Each  moment  grew  faint  on  the  sad  seaman's  ear. 

Quick  hands  from  on  high  shook  the  wide  spreading  sail, 

Each  rounded  to  fullness  in  the  soft  blowing  gale  ; 

Like  a  white-winged  thing,  with  life  ever  gay. 

'I  lie  proud  ship  sped  onward  past  the  luht-house  away. 

Sail  on  mighty  one  to  the  uttermost  Ind  ; 

To  the  voyage  before  us  in  mercy  we're  blind! 

A  year  had  passed,  no  tidings  came, 

And  anxious  grew  each  weary  brea-t — 
Almost  another,  still  the  same 

Dead  silence  to  those  hearts  oppressed  : 
At  last  'twas  known,  the  Victonne 

Had  never  reached  herde-tined  port, 
Although  she  seemed  an  ocean  queen, 

The  waves  had  crushed  her  in  their  sport. 

'Twas  so  surmised,  though  nothing  sure 

Was  known  of  what  her  fate  might  be, 
For  we?ry  months  they  did  endure, 

The  pangs  of  dark  uncertainty. 
At  last,  all  trust  was  wholly  gone. 

Each  anguUhed  heart  gave  up  its  hope, 
And  then  in  silence  made  its  moan. 

Faith's  anchor  parting  its  last  rope. 

St.  Braix  went  mourning  for  her  dead  ; 

The  ancient  town  had  ne'er  before, 
Lo-t  such  a  crew  as  this  thej*  said. 

And  all  bewailed  them  long  and  sore. 


160  The  Heirs  ©/  St.  Kilda. 

Young  Harry  was  the  pride  of  all, 
A  captain  ever  brave  and  true, 

So  handsome  in  his  stature  tall, 
No  wonder  Ethel  pallid  grew. 

It  was  in  truth  a  dismal  day, 

When  news  came  in  the  ship  was  lost, 
For  many  hearts  in  anguish  lay, 

But  she  the  one  that  sorrowed  most ; 
A  fair,  young  girl  with  waving  hair, 

O'er  hazel  eyes  and  blooming  cheek; 
The  tidings  filled  her  with  despair. 

And  she  grew  faint  and  very  weak. 

Her  father  was  an  artist  old. 

Who  rarely  now  his  pencil  used  ; 
On  quiet  evenings  would  he  stroll, 

Along  the  beach  and  silent  mused. 
He  had  been  famous  years  ago, 

And  then  amassed  his  present  store  ; 
He  still  was  rich  in  fancy's  flow, 

And  deeply  skilled  in  nature's  lore, 

And  he  was  then  all  tenderness, 

To  her  who  meekly  went  her  ways  ; 
He  thought  that  time  would  heal  distress, 

And  Ethel  still  know  happy  days  : 
Young  Harry  Croome  had  loved  her  long, 

And  with  the  father's  full  consent; 
Full  oft  had  he  with  jest  and  song, 

Fresh  joy  unto  the  old  man  sent. 

But  Captain  Croome  and  all  his  crew, 

With  foundered  ship  were  buried  deep  ; 
Why  should  her  tears  oft  start  anew. 

Why  should  she  breathe  his  name  in  sleep? 
The  light  was  low  in  her  brown  eyes, 

The  golden  gleam  faint  on  her  hair 
Unless  some  joy  should  banish  sighs, 

His  child  might  die  in  her  despair. 

She  had  been  e'er  a  thing  of  joy, 

Unto  his  widowed  heart  till  now — 
So  calm,  so  free,  and  yet  so  coy, 

With  ne'er  a  care  upon  her  brow : 
He  wept  himself  to  see  her  gloom, 

O'ercome  her  feeble  show  of  life  ; 
And  hours  of  weeping  in  her  room, 

Smote  on  his  heart  like  cruel  knife. 

There  was  a  time  when  Ethel  Howe, 
With  her  young  lover  oft  wrould  stroll. 

Along  the  beach  in  twilight's  glow, 
To  watch  the  silver  wavelets  roll : 


1 


11 


Rosamond's  Story.  161 


She  shuddered  now  at  bay  or  sea, 
She  would  not  walk  the  shining  strand  ; 

The  church-yard  with  its  willow  tree, 
Spoke  to  her  of  another  land. 

And  often  there,  when  all  alone, 

Clothed  o'er  with  her  own  simple  grace, 
She  silent  sat,  nor  tear  nor  moan 

Revealed  how  her  young  life  ran  waste: 
With  weary  months  her  sadness  grew, 

A  thing  that  no  more  sought  its  tears  5 
At  times  a  faint  smile  came  to  view, 

And  lulled  the  anxious  father's  fears. 

But  she  grew  feebler  day  by  day. 

She  could  not  reach  the  church-yard  wall ; 
The  doctors  sent  her  far  away, 

Perhaps  another  scene  might  call, 
Her  heart  away  from  its  long  grief; 

So  with  her  father  she  was  gone 
Two  ye:irs  or  more,  and  slow  relief 

At  last  upon  her  faintly  shone. 

The  bloom  that  mantled  on  her  cheek, 

In   former  days  bad  not  returned ; 
But  in  her  eyes  so  dark  and  meek, 

A  gentle  lustre  ever  burned: 
Her  graceful  stature  drooped  no  more, 

A  chastened  beauty  was  her  own  ; 
She  was  in  truth  as  some  rare  flower, 

Which  trodden  down  has  sweeter  grown. 

Her  face  no  more  revealed  her  pain, 

Her  look  was  peaceful  in  her  sleep; 
The  father's  heart  grew  glad  again, 

He  thought  the  past  was  buried  deep  : 
And  then  by  slow  degrees  he  sought, 

To  bring  her  'mid  the  young  and  gay, 
And  she  to  please  him  in  his  thought, 

Without  remonstrance  went  his  way. 

In  Beauty's  circle  she  was  crowned, 

Of  all  the  city  fairest,  best ; 
Xo  rival  queens  upon  her  frowned. 

They  saw  her  heart  was  still  unblest, 
For  woman's  eyes  are  swift  to  learn, 

Where  sorrow's  feet  have  left  their  mark; 
They  know  that  though  the  cheek  may  burn, 

The  sold  within  may  still  be  dark. 

And  so  in  May  Fair's  giddy  haunts, 
She  sweetly  bore  her  part  in  all, 

In  play,  and  song,  and  joyous  dance, 
The  white-robed  figure,  lithe  and  tall 


182  Tie  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


Went  soitly  on  upon  the  round 

Which  Wealth  and  Fashion  gaily  tread; 
Until  at  last  the  father  found 

One  that  he  wished  that  she  should  wed. 

For  he  was  all  that  heart  could  paint. 

As  partner  of  a  daughter's  life ; 
Who  though  he  might  not  be  a  saint, 

Yet  bore  suet)  gifts  for  future  wife, 
The  old  man  in  his  heart  and  head, 

Could  not  a  single  moment  dream, 
That  long  devotion  to  the  dead, 

Could  thwart  him  in  his  darling  scheme. 

Her  sire  was  wary,  and  he  told 

The  lover  all  her  tale  of  woe  ; 
And  then  he  knew  to  win  the  goal. 

He  must  be  circumspect  and  slow  : 
So  Rob  .rt  Grange  with  patience  true. 

Was  ever  at  her  side,  when  she 
Might  tender  show  of  s  rvice  view, 

in  light  that  should  most  pleasant  be. 

He  was  in  truth  a  man  of  mark, 

Young,  proud,  and  stately  in  his  air, 
With  name  esteemed  since  ages  dark 

Had  known  its  earliest  scion  fair  : 
And  he  had  riches  ; — lordlv  ease 

Was  his  through  all  the  listless  year  ; 
Such  men  but  rarely  fail  to  please, 

Or  rob  Bereavement  of  its  tear. 

A  vein  of  wildest  romance  slept, 

Beneath  his  high-bred  courtesy  ; 
Because  fair  Ethel  long  had  wept, 

And  that  she  still  was  far  from  free 
From  her  great  sorrow,  all  the  more 

This  Sybarite  to  her  was  drawn  : 
He  cloy'd  of  happy  beauty's  power, 

And  turned  to  one  that  was  forlorn. 

He  recognized  the  mighty  scope 

Of  love  that  lay  in  Ethel's  heart ; 
Half  vain— half  noble  in  the  hope, 

He  minded  to  withdraw  the  dart, 
That  Faith  and  Death  had  planted  there, 

While  yet  her  youth  was  in  its  glow  : 
And  she  to  him  was  then  more  dear, 

Than  even  he  himself  could  know. 

And  in  tins  way,  that  which  had  beei 
But  lo  e  half  wakened  in  his  breas 

Grew  mighty  passion  :  all  within 
Her  image  took,  and  wild  unreal 


Rosamond's  Story.  163 

Was  on  him  when  away  from  her  : 

But  when  she  came,  then  murmur'd  praise 

By  others  made  his  pulses  stir — 
Sweet  dreams  of  her  filled  all  his  days. 

Such  homage  could  not  fail  to  touch, 

A  heart  not  made  of  very  stone  ; 
And  Ethel  pondered  deep  and  much, 

How  her  own  thanks  could  best  be  shown. 
Without  awakening-  in  the  end, 

A  thought  of  any  closer  tie, 
Than  that  of  dearij'-cherished  friend, 

Whose  worth  she  valued  very  high. 

And  so  communion  'twixt  the  two, 

Waxed  close  as  time  rolled  onward  still ; 
And  greater  longings  daily  grew. 

In  Grange's  heart  and  warped  his  will: 
For  he  no  longer  could  forbear ; 

His  secret  was  at  last  her  own  ; 
And  as  she  hid  the  rising  tear, 

Yet  never  change  in  her  had  grown. 

With  winning  grace,  the  simple  tale. 

Of  all  her  fealty  to  the  dead 
She  told,  and  Kobert  very  pale 

Seemed  one  from  whom  bi'ight  hopes  had  fled  :. 
He  merely  bowed  his  head,  and  long 

Was  lost  in  broken-hearted  thought ; 
It  seemed  his  nature  brave  and  strong, 

Bad  yielded  up  the  prize  it  sought. 

"  Then  let  me  but  be  still  your  friend," 

He  said  with  sad  and  pleading  eyes  ; 
And  she  with  tears  thus  brought  to  end 

A  scene  that  gave  her  no  surprise. 
The  fathers  heart  was  sorely  wrung ; 

Yet  no  complaint  in  word  or  air, 
Reached  her,  but  on  his  brow  there  hung 

A  sorrow  newly  fastened  there. 

And  then  sweet  Ethel  longed  for  home, 

St.  Braix  was  now  in  all  her  dreams, 
She  wished  the  strand  once  more  to  roam. 

The  sea  no  longer  hateful  seemed  : 
Within  its  dark,  unfathomed  breast, 

Midst  coral  caves,  she  fondly  thought. 
Slept  one  whose  image  then  was  blest, 

And  onh  gentlest  sorrow  brought. 

The  fathei  sigh   I,  his  hopt'  was  lost, 

But  Grange  had  promised  he  would  come,. 

Erie  Autumn  brought  her  first-born  frost, 
To  see  them  in  their  village  home  : 


164  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


So  they  left  all  the  circle  wide, 
Known  in  the  city's  broad  embrace  ; 

And  soon  the  tower  far-off  espied, 
Betokened  their  own  dwelling  place. 

There  Ethel  finds  that  loving  hands. 

Have  kept  her  trellised  vines  and  flowers; 
The  cottage  fair  still  shaded  stands, 

Half-hidden  in  its  leafy  bowers. 
St.  Braix  is  peaceful  as  of  old, 

The  sea  still  glistens  far  away, 
The  light-house  lamps  with  red  and  gold, 

Still  gleam  across  the  sleeping  bay. 

The  blow  that  fell  upon  them  sore 

Has  healed  with  slowly-moving  years; 
No  looks  of  anguish  as  of  yore, 

The  town  has  dried  its  latest  tears  : 
Few  hearts  among  the  widows  left, 

Of  those  lost  on  the  Victorine 
"Set  pine  for  husbands  long  bereft ; 

Small  thought  is  their's  of  what  had  been. 

For  some  were  freshly  wedded  then ; 

And  in  their  new-born  children's  eyes, 
Found  scope  to  banish  thought  of  men 

Become  at  last  but  memories, 
Of  that  dim  pa-t,  that  Time  had  hid, 

In  graves  so  still  and  darkly  deep, 
Remembrance  dull,  her  heavy  lid 

Xe'er  rais  d  but  in  disturbing  sleep. 

But  there  was  one  that  Ethel  knew, 

The  widow  of  her  Harry's  mate, 
Who  wore  her  weed-,  and  woman  true, 

Still  wept  upon  her  hu-band's  fate  : 
These  two  were  nearly  of  one  age, 

Sworn  friends  they  had  been  long  and  fast ; 
The  face  of  each  was  but  a  page 

Writ'  o'er  with  all  the  buried  past. 

And  they  with  Mary's  little  child, 

Made  up  their  own  sweet,  quiet  world  ; 
In  thought  and  word,  all  nnfleflled 

They  sat  and  talked  while  o'er  them  curled 
The  ghost-like  mists  from  meadows  wide, 

And  both  would  shudder  lest  the  night, 
To  coming  ship,  with  fog  might  hide — 

The  light-house  with  its  guiding  light. 

At  last  there  came  a  cruel  blow, 

That  brought  fresh  shadow  on  their  home ; 
A  bank  had  failed  and  earnings  slow 

Of  years  long  back  were  swiftly  gone. 


Eosamond's  Story.  165 

George  Howe  was  now  an  aged  man, 

He  could  not  hope  in  any  way, 
Such  treasure  lost,  to  make  again 

4  fortune  at  so  late  a  day. 

There  was  a  remnant  of  the  wreck, 

That  he  still  held  as  his  last  stay; 
But  all  the  sky  was  very  bleak, 

Unto  the  old  man  bent  and  gray; 
His  health  gave  way  and  then  in  bed, 

The  feeble  lamp  might  soon  go  out, 
'Twas  grief  to  see  the  daughter's  dread, 

Of  loss  that  seemed  so  near  about. 

A  helping  hand  was  Kobert  Grange, 

For  he  sat  hourly  by  that  bed, 
The  sick  man's  pillows  to  arrange, 

Or  bathe  his  often-aching  head- 
To  lead  his  mind  to  other  things, 

Than  what  was  wearing  life  away, 
The  thousand  soothing  offerings, 

That  all  may  need  some  hapless  day. 

For  then  he  long  had  been  their  guest  ; 

St.  Braix  he  said  had  goodly  air, 
But  in  his  heart  howe'er  unblest. 

Was  love  which  would  not  brook  despair. 
With  Ethel  he  was  dearer  grown 

Than  lie  had  been  before  he  spoke 
A  year  ago,  and  hope  full-blown 

Within  his  breast  again  awoke. 

Then  as  the  artist  feebler  grew. 

He  often  lay  with  half-closed  eyes, 
And  gazing  long  upon  these  two, 

Would  silent  pray  for  dearer  ties ; 
And  Ethel  saw  the  longing  thought, 

That  was  unspoken  to  the  ear, 
And  all  her  heart  was  strangely  wrought, 

And  overflowed  with  boding  fear. 

One  evening  when  they  were  alone. 

The  father  bagged  with  all  his  might, 
For  what  lie  longed  eiv  he  was  gone, 

And  hid  forever  from  her  sight. 
His  words  were  wise,  his  wish  so  plain, 

Though  darkened  all  her  future  lay, 
With  choking  tears  and  look  of  pain. 

She  said  the  words  he  wished  her  say. 

And  they  were  wed,  before  he  died, 

But  some  there  were  who  weeping  said, 

She  was  the  saddest,  sweetest  bride, 
St.  Braix  had  seen  alive  or  dead. 


166  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

And  she  went  meekly  on  her  way, 
The  father  lingered  yet  awhile, 

Her  cheek  was  paler  day  by  day. 
And  fainter  grew  her  gentle  smile. 

The  spring  flowers  bloomed  upon  the  grave 

Of  him  who  loved  them  long  and  well ; 
George  Howe  was  gone,  the  gifted,  brave 

Slept  as  the  shadows  softly  fell, 
From  ivied  tower,  where  Ethel  knelt. 

That  sacred  night  with  Harry  Croome  ; 
IU  influence  then  was  doubly  fell. 

Although  there  was  a  single  tornb. 

She  was  a9  gentle  and  serene. 

In  her  sweet  waiting  on  her  lord, 
A.,  if  no  thought  of  what  had  been 

Stele  up  to  break  their  full  accord; 
But  on  her  pallid  cheek  was  grief, 

That  fe,  ble  step  was  ominous, 
The  drooping  flower,  the  withered  leaf 

Soon  hide  themselves  in  native  dust. 

One  eve  he  took  her  to  the  pier, 

A  ship  was  signalled  from  the  sea  ; 

The  husband  hoped  such  sight  would  che<  r 
The  listless  form  he  pained  to  see. 

And  on  it  came  with  towering  mast, 
And  clouds  of  canvas  in  ihe  air, 
"Bows  on,"  she  bore  upon  them  fast- 
In  truth  a  noble  sight  and  fair. 

The  village  crowded  to  the  wharf; 

What  ship  it  was  no  one  could  tell, 
But  soon  all  words  we're  spoken  soft, 

A  breathless  silence  on  them  f  11  : 
The  ship  came  near,  she  rounded  to, 

One  wailing  cry  rose  high  anil  th'.n  : 
Pale  Ethel  -hrieked  in  deadly  woe, 

•'Oh  God,  it  is  the  Victnrine  ! !"' 

And  even  then  bold  Harry  Croome, 

Had  madly  sprung  unto  her  side  ; 
She  lay  so  still,  gone  all  her  bloom. 

It  seemed  in  truth  that  she  had  did. 
He  clasped  her  in  his  arms  before, 

The  awe-struck  husband  saw  or  knew  ; 
He  kissed  her  pale  lips  o'er  and  o'er, 

His  face  was  wet  wiih  tearful  dew. 

"  Oh   Ethel,  darling,  do  not  die. 
For  I  am  here  at  last  again  : 
I  swear  by  him  who  rules  the  sky, 
I'll  ne'er  return  on  yonder  main." 


/,;/,<,.  ..  ad's  Shirt/.  107 

I  ins  me    thesi   two  who  loved  so  well, 
And  then  pooi  George  with  frantic  cry— 
"This  is  in  ■  and  Harry  fell 

With  re  head  and  bloodshot  eye. 

Within  a  month  and  he  was  gone  : 
The  raging  fever  all  was  o'er, 

The  pallid  man  one  dreary  morn 

Had  lei'r.  lie  said  to  come  no  more  : 
No  word  he  sent  to  her  he  loved, 

No  cle  v  to  mark  his  lonely  pj 
He  look*      ■    thoi  gh  he  was  unmoved. 

And  least  of  all  was  he  in  wrath. 

There  were  but  few  who  with  him  sailed, 

Tame  back  fron   \  >yage  evil-starred  : 
And  stoutest  heai         ith  terror  quailed, 

When  all  the  as  unbarred  ; 

Fierc    I  ii  ith  Mali 

All  night  on  that  dark  eastern  coast, 
Wherein  the  heathen's  ruthless  sword, 

Had  triumph  got  at  tea  fid  cost. 

A  few  survived  and  then  in  chair.-, 

Went  year:  as  slaves  on  weary  round 
Enduring  all  that  chafes  and  pains 

Until  they  had  deliverance  found: 
\nd  they  were  rescued  witb  their  ship 

Their  leader  bad  from  durance  broke 
One  night  when  guard  wa<  ca  pt, 

And  hi  inii'  when  they  awoke. 

His  sisii    ■  as  stained  Malaysian  brown, 

His  was  the  garb  the  country  wore; 
Ami  as  the  speech  to  liim  was  known, 

I  >  pas»si  il  at  h  ngtli  unto  a  shore. 
Whore  English  ships  were  found,  and  soon 

Tin-  e  dire,  so  long  delaye  1. 

Had  c  ;    Ihe  secret  stronghold  flown, 

And  it  was  as  in  mortar  brayed. 

The  Vietorine  in  friendly  port 

Was  fitted  once  more  for  the  sea  ; 
<\  distance  they  had  nor  to  court. 

Per  all  was  rendered  fui!  and  free  : 
V'W  seamen  took  the  place  of  thos  - 

Shi  in  ii    attack  and  after  woe; 
Ami  then  once  more  with  plashing  prow, 

The  i    «cued  'hip  did  homeward  go. 

But  who  can  tell  the  anguish  known. 

In  those  six  years  when  hope  had  lied  ; 
They  knew  at  home,  what  grief  was  grown, 

And  they  long  numbered  with  the  dead. 


168  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

They  saw  (lie  circling  years  roll  byT 
And  tli'.v  us  in  s?oin<»  living  tomb, 

All  deaf  unto  the  world's  great  cry. 
To  higher  things  could  never  come. 

They  saw  the  sun  stride  and  set 

Each  day  and  srill  no  hope  arose; 
Some  pining  died  and  lowly  slept, 

Sreiire  .-ii  last  in  death's  repose; 
Bur  he  the  leader,  strong  and  brave, 

Still  aided  by  his  faithful  mate, 
Kept  life  and  hope,  though  some  did  rave- 

With  curses  on  o'er-ruling  fate. 

What  Ethel  said  and  what  she  felt 

Was  known  to  none  but  Mary  Gore  ; 
But  all  that  night  in  tears  she  knelt 

Upon  the  bare  and  chilling  floor  : 
To  Eobert  Grange  no  word  she  save. 

Since  they  had  seen  the  Victor! ne  ; 
And  he  was  sad  and  very  grave, 

And  not  the  man  that  he  had  been. 

He  I0112;  'ia(l  known  her  love  so  true  • 

To  one  he  thought  would  come  no  more  ;• 
But  with  that  rival  here  anew, 

His  peace  was  broken  deep  and  sore  ; 
To  see  the  wife  he  cherished  still 

A'  faint  with  worship  not  his  own 
Brought  to  his  heart  a  deadly  chill. 

To  madness  he  had  well  nigh  gone. 

"With  fait  "ring  tongue  at  last  he  spoke 

And  eluded  her  with  fealty  lost; 
A  wailing  cry  upon  him  broke, 

Her  look  was  that  of  spirit  lost : 
u  Oh  spare  me  all  these  cruel  words, 

My  burden  from  you  soon  will  pass  ; 
You  know  not  by  what  feeble  cords 

I  cling  amid  the  wintry  blast." 

"  I  never  more  shall  see  his  face, 

No  word  of  li is  upon  my  ear 
Shall  ever  come,  oh  in  your  grace, 

My  pleading  cry  in  mercy  hear  : 
Oh  leave  me  to  myself  and  God, 

I  am  so  weak,  deep  rest  I  crave ; 
Ere  long  the  wine-pr^ss  will  be  trod, 

And  1  shall  rest  within  my  grave."" 

He  never  sought  to  chid  ■  her  more  ; 

His  every  thought  was  now  to  save  ^ 
But  vain  is  love  in  its  weak  power, 

However  madly  it  may  rave.. 


Rosamond's  Story,  169 


One  evening  Mary  Gore  was  there. 
And  when  she  went  as  night  came  on, 

The  husband  found  her  sleeping  fair, 
As  though  all  grief  had  from  her  gone. 


'a 


The  light  was  full  upon  her  face, 

Around  her  swept  the  long  brown  hair, 
A  letter  which  she  just  had  read, 

Was  still  all  damp  with  falling  tear: 
He  touched  her  forehead,  it  was  cold  ; 

A  shiver  ran  through  all  Ins  frame, 
His  si  ;-ony  could  not  be  told; 

He  loudly  called  her  dear,  loved  name. 

But  Ediel  slept  the  sleep  that  knows 

No  waking  up  to  further  pain  ; 
Her  look  was  that  of  deep  repos  \ 

Upon  her  cheeks  a  rosy  stain 
Still  lingered,  as  if  joy  had  come 

Unto  her,  as  her  closing  eyes 
Beheld  some  scene  alive  with  bloom, 

And  lighted  all  by  sunny  skies. 

The  letter  in  her  clasping  hand 

Was  from  the  one  she  loved  till  death  ; 
They  both  were  in  that  mystic  land. 

Where  is  no  pain  or  failing  breath  : 
And  this  is  what  with  glazing  eyes, 

The  hopeless  man  wrote  ere  he  died; 
As  on  his  ear  came  wailing  cries 

Of  many  round  him  sorely  tried: 

I  am  dying,  dearest  Ethel,  slowly  ebbs  my  life  away, 
I  am  sinking  here  all  lonely,  at  the  close  of  my  brief  day ; 

When  I  know  that  death  is  certain,  and  no  hope  of  life  remains, 
I  may  tell  you  my  anguish,  ere  I  lose  earth's  weary  chains. 

When  I  found  you  were  another's  I  could  n  t  live  and  see 
The  grief  my  fatal  presence  would  surely  bring  on  thee ; 

So  I  came  to  this  dark  city  where  pestilence  is  rife. 
With  the  hope  that  it  would  ease  me  of  my  overburdened  life. 

It  hath  served  my  purpose  surely.  I  am  dying  swiftly  now; 

I  can  then  in  freedom  tell  you  all  my  love,  sweet  Ethel  llowe ;. 
For  before  you  see  my  letter,  I  shall  surely  be  no  more. 

And  you  will  forgive  me,  darling,  as  I  tread  that  happy  shore. 

I  have  not  a  word  of  chiding,  that  you  Availed  not  for  me  ; 

I  was  so  long  in  coming  back  across  the  fatal  sea, 
I  know  of  all  your  grieving,  and  your  dying  father's  work  : 
You  and  he  were  right,  sweet  Ethel,  but  it  made  my  way  too  dark. 


170 


The  Heirs  of  St.  Kituu. 


For  year.-,  a  slave  down-trodden,  I  had  gone  and  still  bore  up; 

To  its  la-t  and  foulest  drfgs,  I  had  drained  arflit  ion's  cup  : 
With  the  hope  of  you  before  me,  while  1 1  bought  your  love  my  own. 

Sorrow's  night  could  never  darken  the  light  that  round  me  shone. 

In  all  ni3r  darkest  musings,  in  my  chains  I  still  could  see 
Your  ey<  s  in  sadiv  ss  swimming  and  wait  ng  long  for  me  : 

I  had  never  dreamed  of  living  with  other  than  your  smile, 
Your  image  bad  gone  with  me,  and  blessed  me  all  the  while. 

Then  forgive  me  all  the  weakness,  that  cam.'  o'er  me  when  we  met, 
If  yon  sat  bore  now  he-ide  me.  not  a  tear  my  cheek  should  wet  ; 

I  know  your  piteous  story,  an  I  I  am  satisfied, 

My  love  has  not  grown  colder,  though  my  wish  of  life  has  died. 

God  bless  you    darling  Ethel,  now  I  can  say  n<   more; 

I  feel  my  spirit  drifting  swiftly  to  anothei  sho    — 
Something  tell>  me  you  will  follow,  and  to  me  you  will  com;'. 

Be  it  late  or  soon  my  lost  one.  I  am  still  your  Harry  Cioome. 

Rosamond  grew  strangely  beautiful  as  the  glow  of  in- 
spiration deepened  upon  her  in  the  progress  of  her  chant. 
Her  voice  gathered,  power  and  pathos  as  the  sad  story 
developed,  and  when  she  ceased  her  entire  audience  had 
been  melted  into  sympathy  with  tl  e  woes  of  the  unhappy 
bride  of  St.  Biaix.  The  ladies  were  not  alone  in  their 
testimony  of  tears,  for  Judge  Eustace  and  other  gentle- 
men were  testifying  their  deep  emotion  in  the  same 
manner. 

"Rosamond,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "your  story  is  as  beauti- 
ful as  it  is  affecting.  Your  voice  has  wonderfully  de- 
veloped." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  she.  "I  must  beg  pardon  for 
the  sadness  of  my  poor  entertainment." 

''Its  tragedy  is  all  the  sweeter,"  said  St.  George,  "as  a 
foil  to  our  Christmas  mirth." 

"Oh,  Rosamond!"  said  Mariana,  "why  did  you  let 
Ethel  marry  that  Mr.  Grange?" 

"  I  giv(  you  the  story,"  said  Rosamond,  "as  it  came  to 
me." 


Rosamond's  Story.  171 

"Miss  Courtenay,"  said  Keun,  "I  bad  no  dream  you 
would  give  us  such  a  treat.  Pray  accept  a  thousand 
thanks." 

Thus,  amid  the  plaudits  of  all,  the  blooming  girl  sat 
down,  the  centre  of  admiring  friends.  No  one  had  ever 
seen  her  so  radiant.  A  strange  new  beauty  and  grace 
was  hers  which  were  unaccountable  in  the  suddenness 
of  their  advent.  The  night  had  d<  icd  until  the  hour 
had  arrived  for  prayers  and  rest  oon  peaceful  slum- 

ber had  come  to  every  one  of  t!  rclc  at  Elles- 

mere.     Philip   mused   of  Rosamoni  il    forgetful n ess 

came,  and  then  in  fantastic  drean  was  metamor- 

phosed  into    an    angel    of   evei   :?  sing    and    varying 

loveliness. 


172  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PERCJVAL    ST.    GEORGE. 

"  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man  ! 
This  shadowy  desert,  unfrequented  woods, 
I  better  brook  than  flourishing  peopled  towns. 
Here  can  I  sit  alone,  unseen  of  any, 
And  to  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes, 
Tune  my  distresses,  and  record  my  woes. 
O  thou  that  dost  inhabit  in  my  breast, 
Leave  not  the  mansion  so  long  tenantless  ; 
Lest  growing  ruinous,  the  building  fall, 
And  leave  no  memory  of  what  it  was  !" 

—  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

The  dreary  reign  of  winter  was  drawing  to  its  close. 
The  red  buds  of  the  maple  had  commenced  swelling. 
The  voice  of  gladness  was  returning  to  the  long  silent 
birds,  and  in  sheltered  nooks  the  faint  gleam  of  tender 
grass  blades  was  just  peering  into  light.  With  the  ap- 
proach of  spring  the  clouds  of  coming  war  with  Mexico 
deepened  into  more  ominous  certainty.  Forth  from  the 
loving  circle  at  Ellesmere  had  gone  the  soldier,  Stanhope 
Eustace,  though  but  half  of  hisJeave  of  absence  had  ex- 
pired. The  recollections  of  childhood  were  still  fresh  in 
his  heart,  and  the  ties  of  kindred  by  no  means  disre- 
garded ;  but  at  the  call  of  duty  he  gave  up,  of  his  own 
accord,  his  lease  of  pleasure,  and  went  back  to  the  head 
of  his  plumed  squadrons. 

Percival  St.  George  regretted  this  loss  of  his  early  play- 
mate, and  was  busy  in  adorning  the  walks  and  clustering; 
parterres  of  Vaucluse.  Sir  George  Eustace  had  found 
the  quiet  vale  in  which  it  was  situated  covered  with  forest, 


Percival  St.  Geo-rge.  173 

and  was  led  by  its  beauty  and  fertility  to  reserve  it  for 
himself.  Templeton  St.  George,  the  first  proprietor  who 
lived  upon  the  place,  had  lavished  upon  it  all  that  culti- 
vated taste  and  large  wealth  could,  accomplish  in  one 
life-time.  He  was  a  friend  of  Shenstone,  and  had  learned 
from  him  many  secrets  in  rural  adornments.  The  grounds 
at  Vaucluse  needed  but  little  of  the  artificial  means  used 
at  Leasowes  to  impart  the  effect  of  distance;  but  in  the 
direction  of  Sorrel l's  Peak  was  a  noble  vista,  bordered  by 
trees  planted  in  conformity  with  the  English  poet's  ideas. 
Here,  amid  the  slumberous  silence  of  great  trees,  and  on 
the  pebbly  margin  of  still  lakes,  Percival  St.  George  had 
passed  the  greater  portion  of  his  life  in  solitude.  In  the 
seasons  of  the  year  permitting  comfort  out  of  doors,  he 
could  be  often  found  in  his  favorite  haunt,  in  the  depths 
of  the  park  where  all  was  still  : 

'•  And  more  to  lull  him  in  his  shimbtr  soft 
A  trickling  streame  from  hia;h  roeke  tumbling-  rtowne, 
And  ever-drizzling  rain  upon  the  loft, 
Mixed  with  the  murmuring  winde,  much  like  the  sonne 
Of  swarming  bees,  <lid  casr  liiru  in  a  swoune. 
No  other  noise,  nor  people's  troublous  cryes, 
As  still  are  wont  to  annoy  the  walled  towne, 
Might 'tlier.'  be  beard  ;  but  carelesse  quiet  lyes, 
Wrapt  in  eternal  silence,  far  from  enemyes  " 

It  was  understood  that  St.  George  disliked  visitors  at 
Vaucluse,  and  no  one,  except  the  families  at  Ellesmere 
and  Thorndale,  ever  intruded  upon  the  mysterious  retire- 
ment of  the  recluse.  Persons  having  business  with  him 
were  informed,  by  advertisement  in  the  St.  Kilda  papers, 
that  such  transactions  would  be  attended  to  by  Mr.  Som- 
erville  In  this  way,  there  was  no  excuse  for  violating 
his  wishes,  and  many  pangs  of  ungratified  curiosity  con- 
cerning him  were  endured  by  his  neighbors.     Such  con- 


174  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

duct  generally  produces  invidious  criticism  and  remark  ; 
but  whatever  resentment  was  felt  at  his  wish  to  be  alone, 
was  disarmed  when,  at  rare  intervals,  he  ventured  forth 
among  men.  The  <  h  •  m  of  his  manner  won  all  hearts 
hot  already  attrai  \  his  perfection  of  form  and  feature. 

The  countenance  liich  had  been  dearer  to  Leonora 
Orsini  than  all  the  applause  her  own  genius  and  loveli- 
ness awoke,  was  then  more  attractive  than  she  had  ever 
seen  it.  The  love  which  had  arisen  in  his  heart  still  shed 
its  glory  on  his  face,  and  had  not  grown  weak  in  the 
fifteen  years  past. 

The  fair  Italian  was  long  ago  dead  ;  and,  in  most  hearts 
by  this  time,  would  have  become  a  pleasant  memory > 
bringing  neither  joy  nor  grief  in  the  act  of  recollection  ; 
but  with  Percival  St.  George  she  was  as  sacred  and  much 
regretted  as  ever.  While  he  felt  her  lossless  poignantly, 
yet  no  person  saw  him,  and,  for  an  instant,  failed  to  per- 
ceive that  some  great  shadow  rested  on  his  life.  Judge 
Eustace  sighed  to  sec  such  mental  endowments  darkened 
and  rencb-red  useless  by  calamity;  but  in  spite  of  ail  his 
earnest  counsel,  the  master  of  Vaucluse  remained  the 
same  ,l  mute,  inglorious  Milton."  Percival  would  srrile 
as  the  wise  publicist  strove  to  incite  him  to  ambition,  for 
with  all  his  tenderness  toward  suffering  in  others,  there 
was  never  born  into  the  world  one  who  more  thoroughly 
disregarded  the  applause  of  man.  While  he  felt,dike  a 
wound,  any  imputation  of  dishonor,  yet  he  utterly 
despised  whatever  the  populace  might  think  or  say  of 
him. 

He  was  a  polished  Sybarite,  in  the  mysterious  dispen- 
sations of  Providence,  deprived  of  his  idol,  and  in  this 
way  disgusted  with  life.     Sorrow,  supreme  and  abiding, 


Percival  Si.   George.  175 

had  chastened  this  character  of  his  enjoyments;  but  lie- 
resolutely  avoided  all  things  threatening  to  disarrange 
his  dainty  plumage,  The  insubstantial  pageants  and 
gorgeous  expectations  of  hope,  had  indeed  utterly  faded;, 
but  humility  was  as  far  as  ever  from  his  heart.  He  really 
felt  a  large  and  proper  interest  in  the  numerous  slaves 
upon  his  estate,  and  omitted  nothing  that  would  con- 
tribute to  their  welfare  and  enjoyment.  His  feudal  tem- 
perament led  him  to  appreciate  the  position  he  occupied 
in  relation  to  these  beings  who,  with  their  progenitors, 
had  been  for  ages  the  property  of  hh  family,  and  there- 
fore entitled  to  his  care  and  protection.  The  mournful 
beauty  of  his  person,  and  the  solitude  in  which  he  lived, 
strongly  impressed  the  sympathetic  nature  of  the  negroes. 

Percival  St.  George  was  endowed  with  an  exquisite 
capacity  for  enjo3Tment  and  suffering.  His  organization, 
in  other  respects,  was  admirable  ;  and  there  is  scarcely  a 
walk,  in  which  success  is  worthy  of  effort,  where  his 
ample  endowments  would  not  have  enabled  him  to  excel, 
but  his  youthful  ambition  was  all  buried  in  the  grave  of 
Leonora  Orsini.  His  native  abilities  fitted  him  to  shine 
as  a  conversationalist,  but  even  in  the  circle  at  Ellesmere 
it  was  only  when  unusually  interested  that  he  could  be 
brought  to  a  hearty  discussion  of  important  matters.  He 
never  sought  to  conceal  his  opinions,  but  their  expression, 
was  generally  so  sententious  it  rarely  invited  discus- 
sion, for  he  abhorred  debate. 

As  Percival  St.  George  seldom  manifested  a  desire  for 

the   presence  of  his    nearest    kinsmen    at   Vaucluse,  he 

idly  saw  but  one  white  person  on  the  estate.     This 

was  an  old  and  trusted   agent  who   had   been  for  thirty 

years  the  overseer  of  the  negroes,  and  was  one  of  the  few 


176  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kikla. 

of  whose  presence  the  sensitive  nature  of  the  poet  did  not 
tire.  Roger  Earl  had  been  born  in  the  midst  of  humble 
competence,  and  early  learned  to  be  contented  with  his 
lot  in  the  world.  His  attention  to  duty  had,  early  in  life, 
procured  for  him  the  confidence  of  the  community,  and 
Mrs.  St.  George,  upon  the  death  of  her  husband,  had  se- 
cured his  services  on  the  estate,  The  excellence  of  his 
management  had  been  such  that  he  had  remained  there 
a  solitary  bachelor  ever  since.  Percival,  when  a  boy,  had 
learned  to  love  him,  and  it  was  mainly  due  to  his  energy 
that  the  plantation  had  been  so  admirably  conducted. 
Inside  the  stone  walls  encompassing  the  park,  St.  George 
was,  in  fact  and  practice,  master;  but  in  the  broad  fields 
outside,  Roger  Earl  was  lord  paramount. 

During  the  young  heir's  long  absence  in  Europe,  the 
manager  had  often  reflected  upon  the  subject  of  his  mar- 
riage, but  in  his  opinion  this  was  a  matter  of  secondary 
importance  He  had  promised  to  stay  in  command  until 
Percival  could  finish  his  education  and  see  something  of 
the  world.  He  was  doubtful  as  to  what  exactions  on  his 
time  and  attention  a  wife  might  entail,  and  therefore 
resolutely  set  aside  the  project  as  a  thing  to  be  examined 
in  the  future  Alter  the  lapse  of  years  Percival  returned, 
but  the  sunshine  that  once  danced  in  the  eyes  of  the  boy 
who  had  loved  Earl  was  all  gone.  It  was  long  before  he 
learned  the  secret  of  the  blanched  face  and  listless  figure; 
and  when  St.  George  had  told  the  trusted  companion  of 
his  boyhood,  Roger  knew  that  it.  was  the  great  passion  of 
which  he  had  been  thinking  so  long  which  had  wrought 
this  ruin  in  the  fairest  temple  of  strength  and  vivacity 
he  had  ever  seen  containing  the  human  soul.  He  stag- 
gered back  affrighted  from  a  precipice  over  which  he  felt 


Percival  St.   George.  lY7 

bis  own  peace  and   unbroken  content  might  have  sunk 
forever.     It  is  true  Percival   St.  George  had   left  home, 
saddened  in  the  loss  of  his  fair  and   loving  mother,  but 
still  the  most  radiant  and  promising  youth  of  all  the  gay- 
visitors  at  the  Vaucluse  of  those  days.     He  had  parted1 
with  this  child  of  wealth  and  capacity  for  boundless  en- 
joyment when  he  was  as  beautiful  as  Hyperion,  who  re- 
turned with  dimmed   eyes  and  wasted  figure,  to  make  a; 
hermitage  of  the   seat  of  gaiety.     This  was  enough  to 
banish  forever  the  dreams  in  which  Roger  Earl,  in  common 
with  other  men,  had  indulged  himself  as  to  the  joy  of 
wedded  love. 

Stanhope  Eustace  had  gone,  and  wras  by  this  time  at 
the  head  of  his  regiment;  the  dogwood  was  becoming 
white  in  its  blossoms;  and  the  valleys  were  growing  pur- 
ple in  the  tints  of  the  maple  shoots ;  when  Philip  and 
Arthur  Keau  were  asked  by  Percival  to  epend  a  few  days 
with  him  at  Vaucluse.  They  had  at  once  consented,  and 
were  now  wandering  about  the  house,  looking  at  pictures 
and  statuary  so  much  valued  by  their  solitary  collector 
in  the  vears  of  his  seclusion.  The  house  stood  in  the 
midst  of  a  broad  vale  stretching  southward  from  Sorrell's 
Peak,  through  the  centre  of  which  meandered  the  current 
of  the  smaller  river  frequently  widening  into  lakes  of 
surpassing  beauty  in  its  progress  through  the  park.  The 
grounds,  with  the  lapse  of  time,  and  the  careful  attention 
they  had  received,  had  become  extremely  attractive.  At 
the  southern  end  of  the  largest  of  these  lakes  stood  the 
mansion  built  by  Templetou  St.  George,  which  was 
regarded  by  the  people  of  the  valley  as  the  perfection  of 
rural  architecture.  After  Philip  and  Kean  had  passed 
several  days  in  this  retreat,  one  evening  as  the  sun  com-, 
12 


178  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

menced  disappearing  behind  the  mountains  they  walked 
out  to  enjoy  the  balmy  air  and  the  face  of  reviving  nature. 
They  had  gone  nearly  to  the  farther  end  of  the  largest 
lake  when  they  seated  themselves  on  a  mass  of  rocks  near 
the  carriage  way  which  led  across  a  stone  bridge  just 
beyond  them.  They  were  reclining  in  the  shade,  admir- 
ing the  scenery  around,  when  Roger  Earl  approached 
from  the  upper  fields  which  he  had  just  visited  on  a  tour 
of  inspection. 

"  How  is  the  wheat  looking  on  the  Gorse  fields  this 
year?"  asked  Philip  as  Roger  reined  up  to  return  their 
salutation. 

"  About  as  well  as  I  have  ever  seen  it,"  said  he.  "  I  think 
the  wheat  will  be  better  than  I  have  yet  known  on  the 
place." 

"What  was  the  amount  of  your  last  harvest?"  said 
Kean. 

"A  little  the  rise  of  twenty-two  thousand  bushels, 
sir." 

"  That  was  a  large  quantity  of  wheat,"  returned  Kean. 
"  It  is  more  than  is  made  in  some  States  of  the  Union." 

"Yes,"  said  Earl,  "  Mr.  St.  George  was  telling  me  that 
sseveral  Yankee  States  have  come  to  such  a  pass  they  make 
little  else  beside  Irish  potatoes  and  hay." 

"What  do  you  think,"  said  Kean,  "  of  such  a  state  of 
things  ?" 

"  I  have  never  read  books  and  newspapers  enough  to 
give  an  opinion  worth  much ;  but  if  the  world  was  com- 
posed of  such  communities  we  should  all  be  starved  out, 
,-once  in  a  while,  like  the  Irish." 

"But   when   men    are   so   thickly  congregated,"   said 


Percival  St.  George.  179 

Kean,  "  it  is  impossible  to  raise  enough  grain  to  feed  the 
population." 

"  Then  let  them  emigrate,"  said  Earl.  *'  There  is 
enough  open  land  in  the  country  for  us  all,  and  even  St. 
Kilda  Valley,  rich  as  it  is,  lacks  much  of  being  reduced 
to  cultivation." 

"  Mr.  Earl,"  said  Philip,  "  how  do  you  get  on  with  your 
dykes  and  drains  in  the  Goldsby  meadows  ?" 

"  They  are  as  dry  as  this  park  now,"  said  Roger,  "  and 
you  must  ride  down  with  me  some  day  before  your  return 
and  look  at  them.  I  think  Mr.  St.  George  takes  more 
interest  in  the  progress  of  the  works  there  than  any  thing 
I  have  seen  him  notice  since  he  came  from  abroad." 

"  I  think,"  said  Philip,  "  that  Cousin  Percy  is  in  better 
spirits  than  usual." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Earl.  "When  he  is  here  he  is 
more  than  ever  in  the  fields  with  me,  and  if  that  room 
they  call  Mariana's  was  not  in  the  house  I  think  he  would 
be  much  better  without  it." 

"  What  does  it  contain?"  said  Philip,  "I  have  never 
entered  it  since  I  was  a  child." 

"  Many  things,"  said  Roger,  "  for  it  was  built  for 
Templeton  St.  George's  wife,  and  is  splendidly  furnished. 
There  are  two  beautiful  pictures  in  it  which  Mr.  St. 
George  showed  me  and  told  me  were  the  portraits  of  the 
young  lady  he  was  to  have  married." 

Roger  Earl  here  glanced  at  the  swn,  and  seeing  it  was 
nearly  night,  rode  away  to  attend  to  the  stabling  of  the 
farm  horses  under  his  charge.  Philip  and  Kean  returned 
to  the  house,  and  found  Percival  opening  boxes  of  books 
which  he  had  just  received. 


180  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda, 

Later  in  the  evening  they  were  sitting  in  a  room,  over 
the  mantel  piece  of  which  was  the  portrait  of  a  young 
woman.  It  was  evidently  an  ol<i  picture,  and  though 
the  flesh  tints  were  faded  with  time,  the  grace  of  the 
figure  and  beautiful  lines  of  the  face  were  perfectly  pre- 
served. Kean  at  once  recognized  it  as  the  counterpart  of 
a  picture  at  Ellesmere. 

"Mr.  St.  George,"  said  her  "I  have  never  known  a 
family  in  which  the  features  of  the  ancestors  were  so 
perfectly  transmitted  as  in  your  own.  I  see  in  that 
picture  on  the  mantel  a  strong  likeness  to  Philip  and 
yourself,  and,  as  Hamlet  would  say,  a  counterfeit  present- 
ment of  Miss  Mariana." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  Percival,  "  that  we  have  changed 
so  little  in  the  lapse  of  time.  It  is  a  portrait  of  my  great- 
grandmother,  and,  as  you  remarked,  would  be  considered 
anywhere  a  good  likeness  of  the  Mariana  Eustace  now 
living." 

"Cousin  Percy,"  said  Philip,  "I  recollect  when  I  was  a 
child,  you  carried  grandmother  and  myself  to  see  a  pic- 
ture in  a  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  house.  I  think  it 
represented  a  beautiful  lad}7  in  regal  attire." 

"But  few  persons  in  this  country,"  said  St.  George, 
"  have  seen  that  painting.  If  you  desire  it  we  will  go  to 
the  room  now.     Come  with  us,  Mr.  Kean.' 

Percival  led  the  way  to  an  apartment  built  and  fur- 
nished with  exquite  taste,  and  passing  along  its  length r 
paused  before  the  larger  of  the  only  two  pictures  it  con- 
tained. Kean  and  Philip  stood  spell  bound  in  admiration 
of  a  beauty  surpassing  their  dreams  of  female  loveliness, 
while  Percival  silently  struggled  to  suppress  his  evident 
emotion. 


Per  rival  St.   George.  181 

"  That  must  be  a  portrait,"  said  Kean,  "  for  no  imagin- 
ation could  have  rendered  an  ideal  so  attractive. 

"  It  represents  Leonora  Orsini,"  said  Percival,  "  as  I 
-saw  her  in  her  first  appearance  as  Norma.  I  had  seen 
her  before,  in  Paris  and  Vienna,  and  had  been  moved  by 
the  magic  of  her  loveliness,  but  never  until  that  occasion 
did  I  realize  the  perfection  of  her  charms.  I  had  gone 
from  Rome  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  Florence,  and  with 
an  artist-friend  was  loitering  about  the  Pitti  Palace, 
where  we  accidently  met  Leonora  and  her  father.  We 
were  mutually  pleased  with  each  other,  and  when  she 
left  the  galleries,  she  invited  me  to  hear  her  that  evening 
in  her  first  appearance  as  prima,  donna  in  the  production 
•of  Bellini's  beautiful  opera.  The  artist  and  myself  were 
half  frantic  with  delight  at  the  splendor  of  her  persona- 
tion, and  you  see  her  in  the  picture  as  she  appeared  in 
singing  that  most  exquisite  conception  of  sublimated 
sorrow — Casta  Diva." 

"The  idea  and  execution  of  the  piece  are  certainly 
beautiful,"  said  Kean. 

"In  the  other  picture,"  said  Percival,  " she  is  repre- 
sented as  a  Madonna." 

"  Cousin  Percy,"  said  Philip,  "  I  cannot  imagine  the 
faces  in  heaven  to  be  more  beautiful  than  this,  and  I  have 
little  doubt  the  painting  is  less  attractive  than  the 
■original,  for  I  think  the  new  picture  of  Mariana  by  no 
means  equals  herself.'" 

"  That,"  said  St.  George,  "  must  be  the  case  with  all 
portraits  of  lovely  faces.  The  greatest  charm  in  the  hu- 
man countenance  is  the  almost  infinite  variety  of  expres- 
sion some  are  capable  of  undergoing,  and  never  was  this 
more  the  case  than  in  Leonora.      Not  an  emotion  flitted 


182  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda, 

through  her  soul  but  gave  token  of  its  presence  in  her 
faultless  features.  The  portrait  conveys  but  one  of  her 
thousand  emotions,  and,  to  that  degree,  falls  below  the 
resistless  fascination  of  her  own  presence." 

"  Cousin  Percy,"  said  Philip,  "  you  have  never  talked 
much  with  me  concerning  }rour  love  since  I  was  a  child. 
If  it  does  not  distress  you  too  much  give  us  something 
of  your  sad  story." 

"  Yes,  Philip,"  said  Percival,  "  as  I  know  your  grand- 
father has  for  some  time  intended  you  should  spend  sev- 
eral years  in  Europe,  I  will  tell  you  of  ray  disaster  as  a 
warning  against  suffering  yourself  to  become  too  much 
interested  in  any  one  object.  It  is  always  a  grave  and 
dangerous  episode  in  the  lives  of  the  men  of  our  family, 
when  the  happy  season  of  youth  gives  place  to  the  stormy 
passions  of  manhood.  It  seems  impossible  for  us  to  know 
that  calm  and  equable  spirit  to  be  found  in  so  many 
others.  I  have  seen  men  really  attached  lose  the  objects 
of  their  affections,  and  after  a  decent  show  of  grief  console 
themselves  by  supplying  the  place  of  the  lost  idol ;  bus 
none  of  us  have  been  able  to  rise  to  the  height  of  this 
indifference,  or,  if  you  please,  philosophy.  Your  father 
is  of  no  such  material,  and  you  have  no  reason  to  think 
that,  in  case  of  similar  calamity,  you  could  find  oblivion 
sooner  than  he  or  myself:  therefore,  beware  of  fascination 
which  cannot  promise  a  life  of  gratified  desire." 

"  I  have  already  told  you  how  I  first  formed  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Count  Orsini  and  his  daughter, at  Florence. 
For  two  months  I  lingered  there  with  them,  where  their 
ancestors  had  been  so  illustrious.  The  relics  of  the  Medici 
family  were  abundant,  and  these,  as  they  were  connected 
with   her   owrn   progenitors,,  were   chiefly   attractive    to- 


Perdval  St.  George.  183 

Leonora.  I  soon  discovered  the  absorbing  passion  grow- 
ing up  in  my  heart,  and  endeavored  to  crush  it,  for  I  was 
prejudiced  against  people  of  both  sexes  connected  with 
the  stage.  Count  Orsini  was  a  prince  in  reality  as  well 
as  in  name,  and  the  want  of  wealth,  which  first  led  him 
to  consent  to  his  daughter's  appearance  in  the  opera,  had 
passed  away  with  her  splendid  success.  They  moved  as 
equals  with  the  proudest  on  the  Continent,  and  the  Grand 
Duke  of  Tuscany  was  one  of  their  best  friends.  Count 
Orsini  was,  at  first,  displeased  with  my  attentions  to  his 
daughter,  but  with  the  lapse  of  time  her  entreaties 
induced  him  to  consent  to  a  suit  he  considered  beneath 
the  rank  of  his  family." 

"  They  had  made  a  tour  of  the  great  capitals,"  continued 
Perdval,  "  and  I  accompanied  them  to  their  home  on 
Lake  Corao.  Leonora  was  to  spend  a  long  vacation  of 
rest  from  her  toils  and  triumphs.  Having  gained  her 
father's  consent  to  our  marriage,  in  our  unclouded  bliss 
we  were  as  happy  as  human  nature  can  become.  She 
was  to  have  left  the  stage,  for  we  were  botli  unwilling 
that  she  should  longer  remain  in  such  publicit}'.  Noth- 
ing prevented  our  immediate  nuptials  but  her  engage- 
ment to  sing  for  a  short  time  in  Vienna,  from  which 
Leonora  applied  to  the  manager  to  be  released.  His 
stubbornness  cost  me  my  happiness  forever :  o,nd  subse- 
quent to  that  time  mine  becomes  a  stor}-  too  sad  for  repe- 
tition. In  passing  the  Lagunes  of  Venice  on  our  way  to 
the  Austrian  capital  some  deadly  malaria  blighted  my 
beautiful  flower,  and  I  saw  her  fade  and  pass  from  my 
reach.  Ten  days  before  the  world  was  full  of  glory,  but, 
since  my  loss,  '  This  goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me 
a  sterile  promontory ;  this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air, 


184  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

look  you,  this  brave  o'erhanging  firmament,  this  majesti- 
eal  roof,  fretted  with  golden  fire,  why  it  appears  no  other 
thing  to  me  than  a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of 
vapors.' " 

"God  was  more  merciful  than  I  deserved:  instead  of  a 
maniac's  death  He  gave  me  surcease  from  sorrow,  in  a 
long,  dreamless,  wasting  sickness.  I  was  carried  to  the 
brink  of  the  grave,  and  after  a  period,  which  is  a  blank 
in  my  existence,  I  gradually  revived  from  the  stupor 
which  had  rested  on  my  faculties.  Leonora's  death 
seemed  to  my  struggling  mind  some  dim  memory  of  long 
vanished  days,  and,  in  place  of  my  early  agony,  had 
succeeded  lethargy  and  intolerable  disgust  for  all  things. 
Count  Orsini  had  watched  by  me  during  my  illness,  and 
when  I  recovered  gave  me  the  smaller  of  the  two  pictures. 
I  prize  that  more  from  the  fact  that  it  represents  her  own 
beautiful  nature  more  perfectly.  In  the  other  you  see 
her  in  the  assumed  despair  of  Norma." 

"  Cousin  Percival,"  said  Philip,  "  it  seems  that  some 
strange  dowery  of  woe  too  often  accompanies  the  gift  of 
great  beauty  in  woman.  The  loveliest  women  have  been 
the  most  unfortunate,  as  Tennyson  sings: 

"'■In  every  land 
I  saw,  wherever  light  illuinineth, 
Beauty  and  anguish  walking  hand  in  hand 
The  downward  slope  to  death." 

"I  cannot  believe,"  said  Percival,  "that  there  is  a 
necessary  heritage  of  woe  belonging  to  this  great  gift. 
Beautiful  women  make  their  own  destinies." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Kean.  "Women  in  high 
station,  if  fair,  have  their  dispositions  ruined  by  earl)- 
adulation,  and  are  taught  that  their  business  in  life  is  to 


Percival  St.   George.  185 

make  themselves  attractive.  They  grow  up  with  the  im- 
pression that  life  is  to  be  one  long  day  of  romantic  love- 
making.  They  marry,  and  of  course,  with  the  lapse  of 
time,  there  is  naturally  an  abatement  in  the  little  fond- 
lings in  which  lovers  and  newly  married  men  are  so 
prolific.  The  young  wife,  still  glorious  in  undiminished 
charms,  weeps  at  what  she  considers  the  neglect  of  her 
husband,  when  often  it  is  only  the  inevitable  absorption 
of  his  attention  to  the  graver  duties  of  life.  If  in  fashion- 
able life,  the  pretty  wife  then  amuses  herself  by  flirtations. 
This  naturally  excites  the  jealousy  and  distrust  of  the 
husband,  the  old  love  giving  place  to  duplicity  and 
hatred,  and,  of  course,  unhappiness  to  both.  Helen  half 
consented  to  the  treachery  of  Paris  when  he  carried  her 
to  Troy,  and  Cleopatra  and  Mary  Stuart  were  most 
accomplished  flirts.  Beauty  is,  I  believe,  when  properly 
appreciated,  one  of  the  most  unfailing  joys  in  nature,  for 
in  a  husband's  eves  a  lovely  woman  never  loses  her 
charms.  She  is  still  looked  at  with  the  old  memories 
pressed  into  his  heart.  While  to  other  eyes  the  faded 
matron  may  be  less  attractive,  she  is  still  as  lovely  to  him 
as  the  blooming  daughter  he  sees  growing  up  and  repro- 
ducing her  mother's  beauty." 

Philip  and  Kean  left  St.  George  alone  with  the  images 
of  his  lost  love.  No  care  was  in  their  hearts  to  banish 
sleep,  but  their  conversation  had  awakened  a  world  of 
memories  in  the  sensitive  and  excitable  nature  of  the 
poet.  The  heavy  carpet  muffled  his  tread,  so  that  his 
footsteps  were  unheard  as  back  and  forth  through  the 
long  hours  of  the  silent  night  walked  the  lone  man.  Oc- 
casionally he  would  pause  before  the  pictures,  and  in  low 
tones  repeat : 


1SG  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

I  am  thinking  of  thee,  Leonore — 

I  am  thinking  of  Jays  that  have  been, 

When  you  bloomed  as  a  beautiful  flower 

And  my  soul  owned  thee  for  its  queen. 

In  tlie  daylight  I  wander  mid  throngs, 

And  unheeded  I  pass  them  all  by; 

In  their  clamor  I  hear  thy  sweet  songs 

As  soft  as  the    nightingale's  ciy. 

I  am  dreaming  of  thee,    Leonore — 
I  am  dreaming  of  thee  when  the  night 
L  gilding  the  soft  meadows  o'er. 
As  they  glow  in  the  tremulous  light. 
But  the  darkness  has  never  a  veil 
To  shroud  the  light  of  thine  eyes; 
I   am  seeing  thy  brow  that  wa>  pale 
I'm  list'ning  for  one  of  thy  sighs. 

So  through  the    shadowy  night   and  by  day — 

On  the  land,  on  the  sea,  everywhere, 

Though  brief  was  thy  beautiful  stay, 

Yet  thine  eyes  and  soft  waving  hair 

Return  in  my  visions  to  me 

With  nothing  but  love  in  their  light; 

So  I'm  thinking  of  thee  all  the  day 

And  dreaming  of  thee  all  the   night. 

Genius  has  been  defined  to  be  the  capacity  to  suffer  and 
enjo3r  to  a  larger  extent  than  the  same  causes  usually  pro- 
duce in  ordinary  dispositions.  Others  consider  it  mere 
unusual  grasp  and  application  of  knowledge.  In  this 
latter  view  of  the  quality,  there  is  nothing  to  induce  un- 
happiness,  except  the  incapacity  of  most  men  to  entertain 
and  satisfy  such  a  mind,  and  the  necessity  of  its  retiring 
upon  its  own  high  resources  for  solitary  self-communion. 
But  the  simple  enlargement  of  the  mental  qualities  is  not 
genius:  it  is  the  power  to  draw  happiness,  or  its  reverse, 
in  an  extraordinary  manner  from  occurrences  of  life.  In 
this  way  Percival  St.  George,  through  his  acute  sensibili- 
ties, suffered  years  of  depression  in  consequence  of  a  dis- 
aster which  would  have  speedily  ceased  to  distress  most 
men.     Dryden  has  said  : 

"Great  wits  to  madness  nearly  are  allied." 


Percival  St.  George.  187 

But  eccentricity  and  mental  aberration  are  by  no  means 
necessary  accompaniments  of  greatness,  much  less  of 
genius.  While  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  so  absent-minded 
that  he  frequently  forgot  to  eat  his  dinner,  Shakspeare 
was  wise  and  prosperous  in  the  affairs  of  the  world, 
Byron  was  madly  impracticable  in  all  things,  while  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  the  ornament  of  a  large  circle  of  friends  : 
and  hundreds  of  instances  contradict  this  idea,  that  genius 
must  be  eccentric,  or  unhappy,  in  spite  of  Wordsworth's 
declaration  : 

"We  poets  enter  on  our  path  with  gladness, 
But  thereof  comes  despondency  and  madness." 

Percival  St.  George  was  not  a  great  man,  but  was  pos- 
sessed of  fine  poet  sensibilities.  His  listless  and  aimless 
mode  of  life  forbade  excellence  in  any  of  the  departments 
of  human  effort.  With  proper  stimulus  to  exertion,  he 
might  have  attained  eminence  in  whatever  he  desired. 
As  it  was,  even  adversity,  in  a  great  measure,  failed  of  its 
lessons ;  and  while  he  never  manifested  a  want  of  respect 
to  those  fully  satisfied  with  the  revealed  will  of  Provi- 
dence, yet  in  his  heart  he  failed  to  acknowledge  the  ex- 
tent of  his  obligation  in  submission  to  its  decrees.  He 
was  too  refined  and  sensitive  to  wound  the  feelings  of 
others,  by  the  expression  of  doubts  concerning  truths 
dear  to  them,  and  apparently  even  acquiesced  in  the  lead- 
ing claims  of  the  faith  of  his  friends;  but  in  his  heart 
was  no  trust  of  the  many  promises  sustaining  the 
Christian. 

Percival's  early  loss  was  the  key-note  in  all  his  sad 
minstrelsy.  He  had  so  long  nourished  his  grief,  it  had 
become  a  part  of  himself;  yet  with  all  this  melancholy 


188  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

in  his  recollections,  there  was  nothing  maudlin  or  weak 
in  his  bearing.  Only  to  his  family  friends,  at  rare  inter- 
vals, did  he  make  any  allusion  to  his  loss.  If  urged  by 
Judge  Eustace  to  a  larger  participation  among  the  affairs 
of  men,  he  would  plead  the  necessity  of  his  confining  his 
efforts  to  the  good  of  his  slaves.  He  maintained  that  it 
required  all  that  he  and  Roger  Earl  could  do  to  minister 
to  their  efficiency  and  comfort.  In  addition  to  this,  he 
was  in  no  respect  a  democrat  in  his  opinions.  He  dis- 
trusted popular  institutions,  and  thoroughly  disliked  any 
communion  with  the  mob.  To  those  of  his  neighbors 
scantily  provided  with  intelligence  and  goods,  no  man 
could  have  shown  more  charity  and  forbearance ;  but  he 
steadily  denied  the  wisdom  or  propriety  of  endowing 
them  with  equal  franchises  with  himself. 

The  great  mistake  of  St.  George's  life  was  his  want  of 
submission  to  the  manifest  necessities  of  his  nature.  With 
all  the  delicacy  of  feeling  and  tenderness  of  a  woman,  he 
had  for  years  disregarded  the  sweet  offices  of  man  as  a 
minister  of  consolation.  While  pure  and  blameless  in 
his  life,  he  totally  ignored  in  his  thoughts  the  very  ex- 
istence of  any  comfort  beyond  his  own  resources,  and 
thus  forgetful  of  God  and  his  fellow  creatures,  in  mingled 
strength  and  weakness,  he  had  unavailingly  continued 
the  unequal  struggle.  Shall  others  think  themselves 
wiser,  because  in  ambition  or  vanity  they  have  made  no 
such  essay  of  self-reliance?  Shall  self  interest  and  worldly 
engagement  plume  themselves  on  any  superiority  to  the 
mistakes  of  one  too  honest  for  deception? 

''Oh  momentary  graoe  of  mortal  men, 
Which  we  more  hunt  for  than  the  «T%ce  of  God! 
Who  builds  his  hope  in  air  of  your  fair  looks, 
Lives  like  a  drunken  sailor  on  a  mast  : 
Ready,  with  eveiy  nod,  to  tumble  down 
Into  the  fatal  bowels  of  the  deep." 


Mr.  Grey.  IS9 


CHAPTER  XL 

MR.    GREY. 

"His  eyes,  diffused  a  venerable  grace, 
And  charity  itself  was  in  his  face. 
Refined  himself  to  soul,  to  curb  the  sense, 
And  made  almost  a  sin  of  abstinence. 
Yet,  had  his  aspect  nothing  of  severe, 
But  such  a  face  as  promised  him  sincere, 
Nothing  reserved  or  sullen  was  to  see: 
But  sweet  regards;  and  pleasing  sanctity: 
Mild  was  his  accent,  and  his  action  free." 

—Dryden's  Tales  from  Chaucer, 

This  amiable  and  devoted  mau  lias  several  times  ap- 
peared in  this  narrative,  and  his  virtues  have  been  com- 
mended in  more  than  one  instance;  bat  his  influence 
was  so  potent  for  good  in  the  formation  of  the  characters 
of  Philip  and  Mariana  Eustace,  that  a  larger  meed  of 
notice  will  be  accorded  him  in  the  present  chapter.  He 
was,  as  has  already  been  stated,  nearly  of  the  same  age  as 
Gov.  Eustace,  and  had  been  his  school-mate  and  play- 
fellow in  early  life.  The  story  of  his  childhood  was  full 
of  melancholy  interest,  and  furnished  the  firesides  of  St. 
Kilda  valley,  for  many  years,  with  one  of  its  wildest  and 
most  mournful  incidents.  He  was  born  in  the  long  and 
narrow  vale  that  extends  for  several  miles  back  between 
Mounts  Learning  and  Helliton.  This  retired  nook  formed 
a  complete  cul-de-sac ;  for  the  pass,  at  its  extremity  between 
the  peaks,  was  so  elevated  and  precipitous  that  it  was 
considered  impracticable,  except  to  a  few  huntsmen  who 
occasionally  ventured  out  of  Swelterdale  across  this 
mountain  barrier.     At  the  end  of  the  lake,  where  the 


190  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda, 

valley  widened  out,  were  several  cottages  ;  but  beyond 
these,  by  two  good  miles,  was  the  humble  habitation  of 
Turner  Grey  and  his  wife  Edith.  William  Grey  was  the 
older  of  their  two  children,  and  was  just  nine  years  old 
at  the  time  of  the  incident  about  to  be  related.  His  pa- 
rents were  the  only  inhabitants  of  the  almost  inaccessible 
dale  in  which  they  lived,  and  depended  on  patient  labor 
and  economy  to  supply  their  means  of  life.  The  choice 
of  his  home  in  this  lonely  spot  exhibited  the  daring  of 
Turner  Grey's  nature.  The  distance  between  him  and 
his  nearest  neighbor  would  be  generally  deemed  in  the 
American  States  inconsiderable,  but  from  the  peculiarity 
of  the  single  approach  was  equivalent  to  a  much  greater 
removal  from  the  friendly  offices  of  men. 

In  the  winter,  when  the  snow  commenced  drifting  down 
the  mountain  sides,  it  was  often  a  matter  of  impossibility 
to  communicate  with  the  outer  world  ;  and  the  solitary 
cottage  was,  therefore,  never  highly  valued  as  a  place  of 
residence.  Turner  Grey  had  been  a  soldier,  and  had 
lived  for  five  years  in  the  forest  and  plains  of  the  West. 
The  parents  of  his  wife  had  objected  to  his  marriage ;  and 
this  added  to  the  disposition  toward  solitude  already 
strong  in  his  mind  ;  so,  as  the  cottage  was  unoccupied,  and 
could  be  had  at  a  moderate  price,  the  young  couple, 
shortly  after  their  nuptials,  came  to  the  little  cot  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountains,  and  had  lived  there  ever  since. 
Some  months  previous  to  the  period  referred  to,  there 
had  occurred,  in  one  of  the  cottages  in  which  Turner 
Grey  happened  to  be  a  visitor,  a  deadly  conflict  between 
two  of  the  dalemen.  There  had  been  much  talk  of  a  gang 
of  counterfeiters,  who  were  coining  and  issuing  spurious 
money  in  that  portion  of  St.  Kilda  valley.     These  men 


Mr.    Grey.  191 

happening  to  get  into  an  altercation,  one  of  them  charged 
the  other  with  complicity  in  this  infamous  violation  of 
the  laws.  It  was  promptly  resented,  and,  before  the  by- 
standers could  separate  them,  the  accuser  was  stabbed 
and  mortally  wounded.  The  man  who  thus  became 
amenable  to  the  double  charge  of  counterfeiting  and 
homicide  was  arrested  and  put  in  jail,  and  was  awaiting 
his  trial.  It  was  now  the  time  of  the  winter  session  of 
the  superior  court,  and  Turner  Grey,  being  an  important 
witness  against  the  prisoner,  was  of  course  summoned  to 
attend.  There  had  been  several  heavy  falls  of  snow  pre- 
vious to  his  preparations  for  departure  from  his  humble 
home,  and  his  wife,  Edith,  was  full  offender  solicitude  for 
his  safety.  He  was  a  man  of  stern  manner,  but  had  ever 
been  loving  and  considerate  toward  his  companion.  They 
were  indeed  all  in  all  to  each  other,  iti  the  wild  and  lonely 
recess  in  which  they  dwelt.  Turner  Grey,  like  the  strong- 
limbed,  brave-hearted  man  that  he  was,  went  on  foot 
through  the  great  snow  drifts,  having  laughed  in  deri- 
sion at  the  fears  that  filled  the  bosom  of  his  wife.  He 
safely  reached  St.  Kilda  the  day  on  which  the  case  he  had 
been  summoned  to  attend  stood  for  trial  ;  but  the  severity 
of  the  weather  had  detained  other  material  witnesses,  so 
the  judge  postponed  the  case  two  days  in  consequence  of 
the  continued  failure  of  the  expected  men  to  appear.  The 
trial  should  have  begun  on  Tuesday  ;  it  was  concluded 
on  Thursday  morning  ;  and  the  jury  and  witnesses  were 
dismissed.  The  weather  looked  unsettled  ;  but  as  some 
of  his  nearest  neighbors,  who  lived  at  the  end  of  the  lake, 
were  going  home  that  evening,  Turner  Grey  accepted 
their  offer  to  carry  him  that  far.  They  reached  the  lake 
late  in  the  night;  but  the  fond   husband,  suspecting  the 


192  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

anxiety  of  his  wife  at  his  long  and  unexpected  absence-, 
in  spite  of  his  friends'  entreaties  to  the  contrary,  went  at 
once  on  his  way  through  the  narrow  and  awful  glen  in 
the  direction  of  his  cottage. 

The  boldest  heart  might  well  have  shrunk  back  dis- 
mayed at  the  prospect  which  lay  before  him.  The  night 
was  so  dark  that)  but  for  the  reflection  of  light  from  the 
spotless  snow,  he  could  not  have  seen  at  all.  The  masses 
of  cloud  thai  swept  over  the  summits  of  the  two  moun- 
tains were  already  scattering  around  flakes  of  snow,  show- 
ing the  hardy  mountaineer  what  was  in  store  for  him, 
who  thus  braved  their  fury.  It  was  not  snowing  when 
he  left  the  lake,  or  he,  daring  as  he  was,  would  have 
remained  with  his  friends  until  morning.  By  this  time 
he  was  in  less  than  a  mile  of  the  little  family  who  he 
knew  were  sleepless  on  his  account.  But  now  he  had 
reached  the  commencement  of  the  perils  awaiting  him 
who  thus  attempted  at  night  the  passage  of  the  stream 
which  flowed  down  the  gorge  to  the  lake.  By  his  side 
was  the  trusted  shepherd  clog  which  was  his  inseparable 
companion.  On  they  went  in  the  blinding  storm  of  snow 
which  was  drifting  down  in  frightful  quantities.  The 
winds  hurtling  in  the  mountain  tops  roared,  as  if  they 
would  sweep  down  the  vast  barriers  which  in  everlasting 
strength  turned  aside  their  currents.  Occasionally  the 
straining  eyes  of  the  fast  despairing  husband  caught 
glimpses  of  a  light  faintly  gleaming  in  the  direction  of 
the  home  he  was  never  to  reach  alive.  There  he  well 
knew  sat  his  wife  in  her  anguish  awaiting  his  return. 
There  were  his  rosy  children  in  the  warm  cottage  ever 
illumined  through  dreary  winter.  Who  can  imagine  the 
extremity  of  his  torture,  as  he  groped  through  the  snow 


Mr.  Grey.  193 

and  darkness,  step  by  step,  in  the  direction  of  the  spot 
where  centered  all  his  joys?  He  well  knew  beneath  the 
drift  he  was  slowly  passing,  lay  the  channel  of  the  stream 
which  ran  with  devious  windings  from  the  pool  behind 
his  house.  Several  times  the  unerring  instinct  of  his  dog; 
had  warned  him  back  from  yawning  chasms,  but  the  cold1 
was  so  intense  that  he  felt  strongly  disposed  to  lie  down 
and  rest  his  weary  limbs.  This  longing  was  resisted  after 
short  pauses,  for  he  was  aware  that  slumber  would 
result  in  swift  destruction.  The  energies  of  his  faithful 
dog,  too,  became  paralyzed,  for  he  now  followed  instead  of." 
leading,  as  directed  by  his  master. 

Edith  Grey  had  been  all  this  time,  since  his  expected 
return,  in  a  state  of  the  most  consuming  anxiety.  She 
loved  her  husband  with  a  devotion  which  was  almost 
infatuation  in  its  intensity.  She  had  been  assured  that 
he  would  not  be  longer  absent  than  Thursday  morning,, 
and  she  supposed  he  would  be  able,  in  all  probability,  to 
leave  the  court  house  on  Tuesday  evening  and  reach  his 
home  some  time  that  night,  or  at  farthest,  the  next  day. 
The  happy  couple,  living  in  their  loving  retirement,  knew 
little  of  the  law's  delays.  He  had  gone  away  Monday 
morning  and  it  was  now  Thursday  night.  Edith  was 
strongly  tempted,  in  the  morning,  to  start  for  the  houses 
near  the  lake ;  but,  as  she  was  a  delicate  woman,  she  well 
knew  it  would  overtask  her  strength  to  go  and  return  the 
same  day ;  then  she  looked  at  her  children  and  thought 
of  the  peril  of  leaving  them  alone,  and  with  bitter  tears 
gave  up  her  scheme.  She  was  in  the  greatest  possible 
distress,  as  the  shadows  of  coming  night  deepened  around 
her.  Little  William,  her  first  born,  exerted  all  his  child- 
ish eloquence  to  re-assure  the  drooping  heart  of  his. 
13 


194  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

mother ;  and  as  she  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  sinless 
boy  she  obtained  occasionally  fresh  confidence  in  that 
Providence,  a  trust  in  which  her  own  teachings  had 
planted  in  his  young  heart.  The  storm  raved  and  bellowed 
through  the  mountains,  as  the  trembling  wife  listened  to 
its  fury. 

In  an  agony  of  apprehension  she  vainly  waited  the 
coming  of  her  husband.  By  some  strange  intuition  she 
at  last  became  convinced  of  the  truth  of  his  condition. 
She  felt  that  by  this  time  he  was  wandering  bewildered 
in  the  midst  of  danger  and  death.  She  had  lighted  a 
beacon  at  night-fall  in  the  direction  she  was  certain  he 
would  come,  and  it  washer  only  consolation,  in  the  long 
•watches  of  the  terrible  vigil,  to  keep  this  flaming  signal 
freshly  supplied  with  fuel.  She  could  not  persuade 
William  to  sleep,  for  the  child  saw  such  sorrow  in  his 
young  mother's  look  that  he  begged  to  be  allowed  to  bear 
her  company.  Several  times  she  had  gone  out  amid  the 
war  of  the  elements  to  listen  for  some  sign  of  her  hus- 
band's approach,  and, 

"  In  the  dead  waste  and  middle  of  the  night," 

as  she  stood  straining  her  ears  to  the  mighty  dirge  she 
caught,  faintly  in  the  over-powering  rush  of  the  storm, 
the  sharp,  quick  cry  of  a  dog  in  the  extremity  of  terror. 
There  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the  sweep  of  the  winds 
and  she  heard  now,  full  and  distinct,  the  melancholy  wail, 
and  recognized  the  voice  of  her  husband's  faithful  com- 
panion. The  inarticulate  note  of  grief  told  her  at  once 
that  disaster  had  overtaken  the  two.  She  hurriedly 
i  opened  the  cottage  door,  and  telling  her  first  born  to 


Mr.  Grey.  195 

remain  with  his  unconscious  baby- brother  asleep  in  the 
cradle,  with  one  last,  long  embrace  of  her  child,  she  went 
forth  in  a  vain  trust  that  she  could  aid  her  mate  then 
perishing  in  the  snow.  On  she  groped  in  the  hideous 
turmoil,  following  as  best  she  could  the  direction  of  the 
path  that  led  to  the  crossing  of  the  stream.  At  intervals 
she  caught  the  howl  of  despair  that  still  came  from  the 
dog.  The  love  that  was  supreme  in  her  heart  was  only 
leading  her  to  a  fate  which  had  already  befallen  her 
husband. 

With  the  departure  of  his  mother  there  came  a  wonder- 
ful increase  of  intelligence  to  the  infant  faculties  of  Wil- 
liam Grey.  He  was  but  little  more  than  nine  years  of 
age  at  the  time,  but  his  conduct  under  the  trying  circum- 
stances was  characterized  by  much  of  the  forethought 
and  prudence  of  matured  manhood.  He  seemed  to  real- 
ize at  once  the  truth  of  his  situation,  that  all  must  now 
depend  upon  him  for  the  safety  of  himself  and  helpless 
brother.  He  anxiously  awaited  the  return  of  his  mother 
until  daylight,  when  he  proceeded  to  the  stable  to  feed 
the  few  animals  therein,  and  then  brought  wood  from  the 
shed  for  the  fire.  Little  George  had  awakened  by  this 
time,  and  having  dressed  and  fed  him  sparingly,  he  lay 
down  to  the  first  sleep  he  had  known  for  thirty  hours. 
In  this  way,  for  three  days,  he  continued  to  care  for  and 
preserve  his  brother  and  the  domestic  animals.  At  the 
end  of  that  time,  the  storm  having  ceased  and  their  stock 
of  food  being  exhausted,  he  went  to  the  lake  to  communi- 
cate the  extremity  of  his  situation.  On  his  way  he  found 
the  snow  so  deep  along  the  bed  of  the  stream  he  could  not 
discover  the  bridge,  so  he  turned  back  and  passed  around 
the  pool.     On  his  arrival  at  the  settlements  the  disap- 


196  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

pearance  of  his  parents  was  made  known,  and  in  a  short 
time  a  dozen  men  had  started  in  search  of  their  missing 
neighbors.  The  little  boy,  already  tired  out  with  his 
previous  walk,  was  taken  back  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
men  to  the  rescue  of  his  brother.  The  mountaineers  at 
once  recognized  the  truth  of  Turner  and  Edith  Grey's 
death,  and  after  considerable  search,  on  removing  the 
snow  along  their  separate  paths,  the  remains  of  both  were 
found.  Long  experience  in  such  cases  had  given  them 
such  subtilty  and  skill  they  read  in  the  windings  of  their 
footsteps  the  story  of  distraction  and  despair  preceding 
the  last  moments  of  both  husband  and  wife,  and  their 
unfailing  sagacity  saw  in  the  snow  a  history  of  the  agony 
endured  by  the  master  and  his  faithful  dog.  The  poor 
animal,  they  thought,  perished  in  his  attempt  to  reach 
Edith  Grey,  for  he  was  found  drowned  in  the  stream  near 
where  she  lay.  Suffering  was  not  confined  to  the  hearts 
of  husband  and  wife  on  that  last  dread  night.  Of  the 
shepherd  dog's  sensations,  no  one  but  God 

"Knows,  who  gave  that  love  sublime, 
And  sense  of  loyal  duty — great 
Beyond  all  human  estimate." 

The  story  of  this  love  unto  death  between  the  unfor- 
tunate couple,  and  the  rare  and  almost  incredibly  preco- 
cious realization  of  the  necessities  of  his  position  by 
William  Grey,  drew  great  attention  and  sympathy  to  the 
two  little  boys  thus  left  orphans  in  the  world.  Death 
had  evidently  come  to  both  parents  through  the  exercise 
of  the  noblest  and  most  unselfish  motives.  Judge  Eus- 
tace, learning  the  truth  of  the  sad  story,  induced  the 
honest  dale   men  to   give   him  the  children   they  had 


Mr.  Grey.  197 

already  adopted  in  their  own  families.  They  remained 
at  Ellesmere  until  William  was  sent  to  college,  and 
George,  having  received  a  mercantile  training,  became  a 
prosperous  merchant  at  St.  Kilda,  on  capital  given  him 
by  his  benefactor. 

It  was  now  the  time  for  Philip  and  Arthur  Kean  to 
leave  home  for  the  University,  and  the  heart  of  Mr.  Grey 
yearned  for  the  youth  whose  generous  and  amiable  dis- 
position he  feared  would  expose  him  to  temptations  as 
yet  unknown  under  the  protecting  roof  of  his  forefathers. 
Mrs.  Courtenay,  Rosamond,  and  other  friends,  were  at 
Ellesmere  to  take  leave  of  the  young  heir  who  was  now 
to  encounter  for  the  first  time  the  pleasures  and  allure- 
ments of  the  world.  The  bright  sabbath  morning  was 
radiant  in  the  warmth  and  joy  of  early  summer,  and  it 
was  the  day  for  Mr.  Grey  to  preach  in  the  little  chapel  in 
the  park.  The  family  having  repaired  thither,  were 
seated,  and  the  colored  people  of  the  estate  sat  in  their 
Sunday  clothes  and  best  behavior,  awaiting  the  beginning 
of  the  services.  Several  neighboring  families  were  also 
present,  and  all  observed  the  evident  emotion  of  the 
minister,  as  he  arose  and  announced  for  his  text: 


u 


And    Saul  said   unto  David,   i  Go  and   may  the  Lord   be  Avith 


you 


?-ii 


"  Dearly  beloved,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  these  memorable 
words  were  uttered  on  the  occasion  of  a  great  crisis  in 
the  affairs  of  two  nations.  As  the  bright  ravs  of  the 
morning  sun  illumined  the  crests  of  the  Judean  hills,  on 
opposite  mountains,  across  the  narrow  valley  of  Elah. 
stood  the  confronting  hosts  of  the  Israelites  and  Philis- 
tines.    The  long  lines,  with  waving  penons  and  flashing 


198  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

armor  gazed  upon  each  other  with  all  the  hatred  gendered 
in  centuries  of  warfare  between  rival  races.  Both  sides 
had  prepared  for  a  terrible  conflict,  and 

'Far  ia  the  horizon,  to  the  north,  appear'd 
From  skirt  to  skirt,  a  fiery  region,  stretched 
In  battailous  aspect,  and,  nearer  view 
Bristled  with  upright  beams  innumerable 
Of  rigid  spears,  and  helmets  throng'd,  and  shields 
Various,  with  boastful  argument  portrayed.' 

u  For  forty  days  the  son  of  Kish  had  borne  the  repeated 
challenges  of  his  enemies.  Day  after  day  Goliath  of 
Gath  had  retired  unencountered  from  his  tender  of  com- 
bat. The  brave  blood  seemed  utterly  extinct  in  the  ranks 
of  Israel.  Jerrubbaal  had  for  ages  slept  with  his  fathers, 
and  Samson's  heroic  death  failed  to  awaken  a  kindred 
daring  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen.  The  boastful 
words  of  the  giant  were  all  unpunished,  and  the  hosts  of 
the  Lord  shrank  cowering  with  none  of  their  mighty 
men  to  accept  of  the  wager  of  battle. 

"  Such  was  the  condition  of  affairs  when  a  new  spectator 
appeared  upon  the  stirring  scene.  To  the  amazement  of 
every  one  in  Loth  of  the  confronting  lines,  a  youth,  wThose 
cheeks  were  yet  beardless  and  unbronzed  by  service,  came 
forward  to  accept  the  long-tendered  challenge.  That 
Saul  and  his  followers  should  have  at  all  entrusted  their 
honor  to  the  keeping  of  the  lad  evinced  their  intimidation 
and  fear  of  the  giant.  The  Lord  of  hosts  was  about  to 
give  his  chosen  people  another  instance  of  His  protecting 
power.  While  dismay  chilled  the  hearts  of  those  to  whom 
the  nation  looked  for  deliverance,  His  spirit  was  breath- 
ing upon  the  heart  of  the  strippling.  David  in  his  shep- 
herd garb  had  asked  permission  of  the  king  to  do  battle- 


Mr.   Grey.  199 

in  his  behalf.  Refusing  the  assistance  of  all  the  martial 
preparations  of  that  age,  with  nothing  but  his  sling  and 
the  smooth  pebbles  from  the  brook,  the  young  hero  stood 
ready  to  commence  the  seemingly  unequal  contest. 

"  Truly,  my  brethren,  there  have  been  but  few  inci- 
dents in  the  history  of  the  world  of  such  moral  sublimity 
as  this.  Let  us  imagine  the  tall  figure  of  Saul,  as  he 
stood  up  to  give  David  his  parting  blessing.  One  of  them, 
with  all  his  royal  dignity  and  experience  in  war,  was  the 
slave  of  doubt  and  dismay;  the  other,  in  his  almost 
maiden  modesty,  serene  and  confident  on  the  very  verge 
of  conflict. 

"  The  first  thought  that  presents  itself  in  this  beautiful 
episode,  is  one  well  worthy  of  consideration  by  men  of  all 
ages  and  conditions.  Was  Saul  mistaken  in  invoking 
the  divine  presence?  Were  these  the  words  of  an  un- 
meaning ceremony,  or  the  evidences  of  a  vain  trust  in 
one  who  has  no  existence?  Was  he  justified  in  fact  and 
the  traditions  of  his  fathers,  in  saying  to  the  young  hero, 
'  Go,  and  may  th-e  Lord  be  with  you'?  From  the  days  of 
Abraham  until  that  time,  the  history  of  His  peculiar  peo- 
ple had  been  one  long  lesson  of  the  great  truth,  that  God 
not  only  is  with  nations  who  put  their  trust  in  him,  but 
innumerable  individual  instances  had  testified  his  pro- 
tecting care  of  his  servants.  Though  many  centuries  lay 
between  their  eras,  King  Saul  could  not  have  forgotten 
the  story  of  Noah's  preservation  from  the  pervading  dis- 
aster, which,  in  righteous  judgment,  had  been  sent  upon 
the  world.  Think  you  he  was  oblivious  of  Joseph's 
sudden  advancement  from  a  dungeon  to  a  great  station 
and  lasting  prosperity,  or  could  he  have  been  more  igno- 
rant than   the  Philistines,  who  yet  trembled   as  they  re- 


200  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

called  the  memory  of  the  Exodus  and  the  subsequent 
triumphs  of  Joshua's  advent?  Could  the  sword  of  the 
Lord  and  of  Gideon  have  passed  from  the  recollection  of 
the  race,  or  can  you  imagine  that  a  man  in  either  army 
failed  to  remember  the  answered  prayer  of  blinded  and 
despairing  Samson  ?  No,  my  brethren,  the  prophet 
Samuel  was  yet  alive  in  the  land,  and  the  royal  Jew  well 
understood  he  was  uttering  no  empty  invocation  in  the 
wise  and  affectionate  words  he  used. 

"  God  has  been  with  righteous  men  since  the  creation 
of  our  species,  and  no  man  since  Enoch's  translation,  in 
possession  of  the  convincing  proof,  is  for  a  moment  justi- 
fied in  a  serious  doubt  on  the  subject.  The  accumulation 
of  testimony  on  this  point  has  been  going  on  with  con- 
stantly deepening  certainty  from  age  to  age,  until  now  it 
is  amazing  that  any  reasonable  being  should  hesitate  for 
a  moment  in  giving  full  and  perfect  credence  to  the  un- 
failing goodness  of  God  to  his  creature  man.  Saul,  as  he 
gave  this  parting  blessing  to  the  young  lad,  had  never  a 
doubt  of  the  happiness  and  safety  of  those  entitled  to 
such  protection.  Who  can  study  without  pity  the  tale  of 
his  own  life?  Up  to  this  time  the  blessings  of  heaven 
had  been  with  him.  In  his  early  manhood  he  had  gone 
out  in  search  of  his  father's  lost  asses,  and  found  empire 
and  rule  before  his  return.  Victory  and  prosperity  had 
flowed  as  a  river  around  him.  As  yet,  the  Benjamite  re- 
membered his  origin,  and  was  humble  before  the  power 
which  had,  with  no  effort  on  his  part,  made  him  the  king 
of  a  nation. 

"  Alas  !  my  brethren,  this  favorite  of  heaven,  like  many 
others,  could  not  bear  the  dizzy  exaltation  to  which  the 
favor  of  God  had  raised  him  ;  and  we  find  him,  in  the 


Mr.  Grey.  201 

sacred  history,  abandoned  to  remorse,  and  in  the  deep 
watches  of  the  night  consulting  the  woman  of  Endor 
whose  sinful  practices  he  had  forbidden.  Follow  him  a 
little  further  on  his  course,  and  you  see  the  career  which 
had  opened  so  auspiciously  at  Mizpeh,  closing  in  the 
gloom  of  defeat  and  death  on  the  bloody  field  of  Gilboa. 
"God  had,  in  those  days,  frequently  manifested  Him- 
self unto  His  people  as  their  kind  and  forbearing  protec- 
tor. He  had  led  their  fathers,  by  cloud  and  by  fire, 
through  the  dreary  wilderness  and  the  retiring  waters  of 
the  sea.  They  had  seen  pursuing  Pharaoh  and  his  count- 
less hosts  overwhelmed.  The  impregnable  walls  of  Jericho 
had  gone  down  before  the  blast  of  rains'  horns.  They 
had  looked  upon  the  smoking  mountain,  and  heard  the 
thunders  of  omnipotence  at  Sinai,  and  alas!  they  had 
also  witnessed  the  consuming  wrath  of  God  in  the  pun- 
ishment of  their  sins.  But  they  had  not  seen  what  we 
know  He  has  done  for  us.  He  had  not  then  sent  his  Son 
into  the  world  to  die  for  us.  Christ  had  not  then  assumed 
our  nature,  and  walked  with  man  as  brother  with  brother. 
In  all  his  kindness  to  his  people,  He  was  yet  full  of  un- 
approachable majesty.  The  veil  was  not  yet  rent,  and 
the  soul  that  presumed  to  thrust  its  sinful  presence  into 
the  Holy  of  Holies  was  cut  off  from  among  men.  Christ, 
our  loving  and  affectionate  friend,  had  not  wept  with  the 
sorrowing  sisters  of  Lazarus,  and  no  woman  taken  in  the 
act  of  crime  had  been  dismissed  with  the  gentle  admoni- 
tion,  'Go  and  sin  no  more.'  Our  gracious  Master  had 
not  then  declared,  '  He  that  eateth  my  flesh  and  drinketh 
my  blood,  dwelleth  in  me  and  I  in  him.'  'The  Lamb  of 
God  that  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world,'  had  not,  by 
His  own  death,  sanctified  His  declaration,  that  '  Greater 


202  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life 
for  his  friend.'  While  they  knew  there  was  an  all-wise 
and  just  God,  His  Son  had  not  yet  declared,  there  is  one 
supreme  in  heaven  and  earth  who  yet  '  sticketh  closer 
than  a  brother.'  No  dying  thief,  repentant  in  his  last 
moments,  had  heard,  as  his  ears  grew  dull  and  callous  in 
dissolution,  the  promise,  '  This  day  shalt  thou  be  with  me 
in  Paradise.' 

"  Oh  !  my  brethren,  would  that  we  could  fully  appre- 
ciate this  matchless  blessing  that  Saul  invoked  in  David's 
behalf.  Oh  !  that  our  sinful  natures  would  allow  us  to 
realize  what  it  is  to  go  and  have  God  with  us  all  along 
our  weary  way  in  this  life.  Oh  !  that  we  had  thus  that 
'  peace  of  mind  which  passeth  all  understanding,'  and  that 
consolation  which  the  world  cannot  give,  and  feel  with 
the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  '  there  is  around  us  that  love 
from  which  neither  height,  nor  depth,  nor  things  present, 
nor  power  or  principalities  can  separate  us.'  Let  no  man 
doubt  that  God  walks  with  His  faithful  servants.  Let 
not  the  reprobate  think  that  because  '  He  sendeth  rain  on 
the  just  and  the  unjust,'  that  the  wicked  shall  prosper,  or 
the  seed  of  the  righteous  shall  come  to  want.'  God  is  not 
only  'in  us  and  over  us,  to  work  out  a  far  more  exceed- 
ing and  eternal  weight  of  glory,'  but.  as  surely  as  we  live, 
(  the  angel  of  the  Lord  encamps  around  about  those  who 
put  their  trust  in  Him.' 

"  Then  Saul  was  using  no  idle  ceremony  in  his  bene- 
diction. He  was  invoking  in  David's  behalf  a  blessing 
compared  to  which  all  other  advantages,  that  can  be  im- 
agined in  the  heart  of  man,  are  small  and  insignificant. 
What  are  station,  wealth,  and  the  world's  applause,  to  the 
comfortable  assurance  of  him  included  in  the  gracious 


Mr.   Grey.  203 

promise,  that  '  He  shall  give  His  angels  charge  over 
thee?'  What  are  the  empty  delusions  and  gratification 
of  those  who  put  their  trust  in  riches,  compared  to  the 
serene  and  undisturbed  repose  of  him  who  relies  upon 
the  blessing  of  God  ?  Who  can  fathom  His  goodness  and 
mercy,  or  weigh  in  golden  scales  the  advantages  of  His 
protecting  presence  ?  Long  years  after  the  incident  al- 
luded to  in  my  text,  David,  realizing  that  God  had  an- 
swered Saul's  wish  in  his  behalf,  at  the  close  of  his  long 
and  prosperous  reign,  after  subduing  all  his  enemies, 
and  the  dauntless  boy  had  become  the  illustrious  sage j 
conscious  of  the  blessings  he  enjoyed,  the  king  exclaimed, 
'  Who  am  I,  and  what  is  my  house,  that  thou  hast  brought 
me  hither?' 

"  As  great  and  ineffable  as  this  blessing  of  God's  pro- 
tecting presence  is  in  this  life,  how  can  I  hope  to  display 
the  tremendous  and  inevitable  necessity  of  its  help  in  our 
last  hours  on  earth  ?  If  it  is  so  important  to  our  happi- 
ness and  success  in  the  brief  interval  allotted  to  men  in 
this  world,  to  what  unspeakable  dimensions  does  it  in- 
crease with  the  approach  of  the  next.  If  sorrow  and 
misfortune  so  darken  the  lives  of  the  best  men,  that  with- 
out an  omnipotent  arm  to  lean  upon  existence  is  often  a 
well  nigh  insupportable  burden,  what  shall  be  said  of  the 
soul's  agonized  craving  for  help  as  it  passes  '  the  dark 
valley  and  shadow  of  death?'  Oh  !  that  each  of  us  could 
realize  the  nature  and  extent  of  that  dreadful  emergency. 
Would  to  God  that  all  men  would  remember,  '  We  have 
no  continuing  city  in  this  world ;'  that  our  lives,  at  best, 
are  but  a  short  pilgrimage  in  a  weary  land.  But  brief 
and  uncertain  as  they  are,  and  fearful  and  inevitable  as 
is  the  approach  of  death,  if  God  has  walked  with  us,  and 


204  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

we  with  Him,  the  king  of  terrors  is  robbed  of  much  that 
is  hideous  in  his  aspect,  and  we 

'  Approach  our  graves 
Like  one  that  draws  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  clown  to  pleasant  dreams.' 

"  In  contemplating  such  a  close  of  'life's  fitful  fever,' 
even  venal  Balaam  was  enraptured  as  he  viewed  the 
white  tents  and  goodly  array  of  the  host  he  was  sent  to 
curse.  Disregarding  the  wishes  of  Balak,  and  recognizing 
the  blessedness  of  the  chosen  people  of  the  Lord,  he  rap- 
turously exclaimed  :  '  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  right- 
eous, and  let  my  last  end  be  like  his.' 

"  The  circumstances  which  combine  to  show  the  advant- 
age of  those  realizing  in  this  life  the  continual  protection 
of  God's  presence,  are  so  numerous  that  their  very  pro- 
fusion is  a  source  of  embarrassment  to  him  who,  from 
their  vast  number,  essays  to  select  illustrations  to  support 
that  which,  by  this  time,  should  have  become  evident  to 
the  understanding  of  all  men.  Some  author  has  remarked 
that  an  unbelieving  astronomer  is  mad;  but  the  grand 
thoughts  and  sublimated  faith  born  of  nightly  vigils  and 
communion  with  the  circling  worlds  which  throng  the 
depths  of  infinite  space,  are  no  more  necessary  corolaries 
than  should  be,  to  other  men,  an  unfaltering  trust  in  the 
goodness  of  that  care  promised  to  the  faithful.  He  that 
keepeth  Israel  shall  not  slumber  nor  sleep.  My  brethren, 
let  us  not  repine  under  affliction  or  grow  timid  in  con- 
fronting calamity.  Impenitent  weakness  may  well  grow 
pale  in  the  presence  of  danger  and  death. 

'These  thoughts  may  startle  well,  hut  not  a*toui)d, 
The  virtuous   mind  that  ever  walks  attended 
By  a  strong  siding  champion,  conscience.' 


Mr.  Grey.  205 

"  We  know  that  darkness  and  solitude  accompany  him 
through  the  battle  of  life  who  attempts  to  live  without 
the  kindly  offices  and  counsel  of  his  fellows.  Such  men 
have  passed  their  time  in  wretched  grandeur,  and  died 
the  monuments  of  their  own  folly.  One  of  the  saddest 
of  all  truths  that  experience  thrusts  upon  us  amid  our 
social  enjoyments  is  the  fact  that  nothing  is  more  uncer- 
tain and  more  the  sport  of  circumstances  than  this  loving 
exchange  of  regard.  No  species  of  hypocrisy  is  more 
frequent  than  the  show  of  affection  between  men.  Self 
interest  and  advancement  are  generally  the  controlling 
motives  which  underly  and  direct  human  action  un. 
sanctified  by  the  grace  of  God.  It  is  from  this  main- 
spring, added  to  the  knowledge  that  unaided  effort  is 
almost  necessarily  abortive,  that  men  court  the  good  will 
of  each  other,  and  in  this  way,  at  rare  intervals,  have 
been  reared  structures  of  love  and  confidence  which  stir 
the  blood  in  their  recital,  like  the  peal  of  a  trumpet. 
Who  can  read  unmoved  the  story  of  Jonathan's  love  for 
David,  and  the  grief  of  the  surviving  hero  at  the  fatal 
tidings  from  Gilboa?  'I  am  distressed  for  thee,  my 
brother  Jonathan :  very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me : 
thy  love  to  me  was  wonderful,  passing  the  love  of  woman.' 
Then  too,  we  have  that  sweetest  of  all  sacred  idyls,  the 
devotion  of  fair  young  Ruth  to  the  desolate  and  widowed 
Naomi.  In  profane  story  we  have  Pythagorean  Damon 
ready  to  die  for  his  friend,  and  in  later  days  the  courage 
of  that  high-born  maiden  who,  hearing  the  footsteps  of, 
treason  and  death  approaching  her  lord,  thrust  her  own 
beautiful  arm  as  a  bar  into  the  iron  fastning  of  the  door. 

'  Or  her,  who  knew  that  Love  can  vanquish  Death 
Who  kneeling,  with  one  arm  about  her  king, 
Drew  forth  the  poison  with  her  balmy  breath, 

Sweet  as  new  buds  in  Spring.' 


206  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  My  brethren,  let  us  thank  God,  there  is  noble  and 
disinterested  friendship  on  earth,  and  as  we  recognize  the 
value  of  this  privilege  to  what  height  of  joy  should  we 
rise,  as  we  realize  the  possibility  of  the  love  of  him  who 
crowneth  us  with  mercy  and  loving  kindness. 

"  How  much  better,  then,  was  the  simple  benediction  of 
king  Saul  than  all  the  elaborate  worldly  wisdom  unsanc- 
tified  intelligence  confers.  Many  of  us  have  read  with 
pleasure  the  parting  words  of  advice  which  the  greatest 
of  the  poets  imagined  in  a  wise  and  crafty  father,  to  his 
son  on  the  threshold  of  manhood  : 

'To  thine  own  self  be  true, 
And  it  must  follow  as  night  the  day 
Thou  canst  not  be  false  to  any  man.'' 

"  Brethren,  the  measure  of  our  duty  is  not  thus  fulfilled, 
for  however  perfect  the  discharge  of  our  obligations  to 
man,  our  maker  and  preserver  should  be  first  in  our 
thoughts.  The  recognition  of  this  all-important  truth, 
and  the  discharge  of  the  dut}^  arising  therefrom,  assure 
us  happiness  in  this  world  and  the  next,  and  enable  us 
to  trust  him  in  whose  goodness  there  is  no  variableness 
nor  shadow  of  turning.  Of  a  man  in  such  blessed  estate 
David  has  declared,  '  He  shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by 
the  river  of  water,  that  bringeth  forth  his  fruit  in  his 
season  ;  his  leaf  also  shall  not  wither,  and  whatsoever  he 
doeth  shall  prosper.' 

"  Then,  if  God  goes  with  men,  and  great  blessings  fol- 
low His  gracious  presence,  the  question  naturally  arises 
why  He  walks  not  with  every  descendant  of  Adam? 
The  answer  to  this  most  important  of  all  inquiries  carries 
us  back  to  that  paradise  lost  by  our  first  parents.     The 


Mr.    Grey.  207 

inborn  proclivity  to  sin  that  led  them  astray  has  been 
transmitted  to  all    their  posterity,   and  they  have   not 
sought  God  in  their  counsels.     If  they  have  not  declared 
this  in  so  many  words,  they  have  in  their  actions ;  as  did 
the  French  mob  when  drunk  with  the  blood  of  innocence, 
as  a  climax  to  their  infinite  folly  and  shame,  they  forbade 
religion,  and   paid  to  a  prostitute  the   honors  due  Him. 
How  often,  amid  the  wondrous  and  unceasing  miracles 
of  the  Exodus  was   Israel   sighing   for  the  flesh  pots  of 
Egypt,  and  how  could  David,  the   man  after   God's  own 
heart,  have  so  despised  his  favor,  in  his  sin  with  Uriah's 
wife  !     Solomon  perhaps  enjoyed  ail  that  his  heart  could 
imagine,  and  yet,  with   his  surpassing  wisdom,  was  weak 
enough  to  forfeit  at  last  the  crowning  blessing  of  life,  and 
so  it  will  be  with  all  nations  and  individuals  who  forget 
God.     If  we  turn   aside  from  him   we  need  not  look  for 
the  large  bounty  of  his  promise,  and   it  is  only  through 
his  forbearance  that  we,  like  the  barren  fig  tree,  are  not 
stricken  down  in  our  places.     That  he   suffers  men  to 
disregard  his  commands,  persecute  his  church,  and  revile 
his  own  holy  name,  does  not  show  that  the  Lord  is  with 
them,  but  it  does  prove  that  His  mercy  endureth  forever. 
"  The  divine  favor  to  some  men  is  often  full  of  mystery 
to  us.     The  craft  and  subtilty  of  Jacob  was  preferred  to 
the  unselfish  magnanimity  of  Esau.     The  heroism  and 
devotion  of  Jonathan  could  not  atone  for  the  sins  of  his 
father;  and  we  can  almost  weep  for  Moses  on  the  moun- 
tain, when  he  went  on  Pisgah   to  die  with  Jordan   still 
pouring  its  flood    between    him   and  the  promised  land. 
But  God    doeth   all    things   well;  and  it  is  as  sinful  to 
question  his  ways,  as  unwise  to  resist  his  decrees.  There 
is  an  old    maxim   among  the  English  lawyers,  that  the 


208  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

king  can  do  no  harm  to  his  subjects.  They  say,  as  the 
sovereign  is  the  source  of  all  law,  and  liberty  nothing 
but  franchises  from  the  crown,  therefore  he  can  commit 
no  infraction  of  rules  granted  by  himself.  God  is  the 
fountain  of  all  truth  and  justice,  and  if  he  is  gracious  to 
one  individual,  as  in  earl}'  childhood  to  Samuel,  we  can 
only  say  that  we  are  clay  in  the  potter's  hands.  If  after 
reaching  accountability  we  lose  his  favor,  it  is  only  due 
to  our  sins  that  such  is  the  fact.  God's  rhoiee  of  men  is 
one  of  the  inseparable  attributes  of  his  majesty.  Let  us 
strive,  my  brethren,  to  make  our  calling  and  election 
sure. 

"  Then  we  may  say,  it  is  evident  to  the  eyes  of  all  who 
are  not  wilfully  blind,  that  God  is  just  in  not  walking 
with  every  one.  Saul  might  well  say  to  the  young  lad 
who,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  innocent  trust,  was  willing 
to  die  for  the  good  of  his  people,  '  Go,  and  may  the  Lord 
be  with  you,'  but  how  could  Elijah  have  justified  him- 
self in  using  such  language  to  king  Ahab  in  any  of  his 
war-like  expeditions  ?  Could  the  mighty  Tishbite,  with 
all  the  favor  God  so  lavishly  showered  upon  him,  have 
dared  to  invoke  that  pure  presence  upon  such  a  man  as 
the  husband  of  Jezebel  ?  Our  sins  drive  God  from  us, 
my  brethren,  often  when  he  is  moving  upon  our  souls. 
Since  the  cloven  tongues  of  Pentecost,  a  richer  heritage 
of  his  grace  has  been  given  the  world;  but  men  in  our 
day  grieve  and  expel  the  Holy  Spirit  as  they  did  in  an- 
cient times.  Do  they  forget  there  is  a  limit  to  the  almost 
infinite  forbearance  of  God?  Have  they  yet  to  hear  the 
declaration,  '  My  spirit  shall  not  always  strive  with  the 
sons  of  men?'  Can  we  not  realize  that  'out  of  Christ 
the  wrath  of  God  is  a  consuming  fire?'     Alas!  human 


Mr.  Grey.  209 

depravity  sometimes  reaches  such  a  stage  in  its  progress 
to  perdition,  that  the  patient  Saviour  of  the  world  con- 
verts his  pity  into  frowning  and  resistless  indignation. 
Oh  !  my  brethren,  how  shall  I  picture  the  state  of  a  soul 
without  God  and  without  hope  in  the  world?  What 
shall  I  say  of  him  who  stands  without  an  intercessor,  ex- 
posed to  the  anger  of  God?  Whither  shall  he  turn  to 
escape  the  tremendous  energy  of  immortal  wrath  ?  '  If  I 
ascend  up  into  heaven,'  says  the  Psalmist,  '  thou  art  there ; 
if  I  make  my  bed  in  hell,  behold  thou  art  there ;  if  I  take 
the  wings  of  the  morning  and  dwell  in  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth,  even  there  shall  thy  hand  lead  me,  and 
thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me.' 

"  The  most  appalling  scene  imaginable  is  that  of  a  man 
abandoned  by  heaven.  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  so  ut- 
terly wretched,  as  an  immortal  spirit  thus  given  over  by 
God  to  irretrievable  woe.  Let  us  thank  him  that  this  is 
seldom  the  case  with  those  in  the  bloom  of  youth.  Men, 
wicked  as  the}7'  sometimes  become,  even  at  an  early  age,, 
rarely  sink  so  deeply  at  once  in  guilt  as  to  banish  the 
wooing  whisper  of  the  still,  small  voice.  We  find  the 
hopelessly  lost  among  those  whose  hoary  heads  are  blos- 
soming for  the  grave,  and  who  in  their  long  lives  have 
committed  every  crime  which  an  imagination  fertile  in, 
misdeeds  and  the  conception  thereof,  can  devise;  who 
have  revelled  for  years  in  iniquity ;  who  have  laughed  to 
scorn  the  warnings  they  have  received ;  who  have  rolled 
sin  as  a  sweet  morsel  under  their  tongues ;  and  whose 
lives  have  been  one  long  effort  to  resist  the  duty  de- 
manded at  their  hands.  What  a  ghastly  scene  is  the 
death-bed  of  such  a  man  !  How  pitiable  and  weak  has 
then  become  the  hardihood  that  derided  morality  and : 
14 


210  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

despised  justice  !  How  craven  the  spirit  that  once  laughed 
at  danger,  and  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life  amid  the 
shafts  of  death  !  Look  at  the  shrunken  limbs  wasted  by 
disease  contracted  in  nights  of  debauchery !  Hear  the 
feeble  whine  of  that  voice  which  once  rang  like  a  trum- 
pet; look  at  that  animated  skeleton,  and  realize,  if  you 
can,  that  here  was  once 

4  A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed, 
Where  every  God  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man.' 

Listen  to  the  mutterings  of  the  tongue,  refusing  to  do  its 
office,  in  now  useless  prayer!  See  how  the  glaring  eyes 
grow  dim,  and  the  sunken  cheeks  pale  in  approaching 
dissolution!  and  you  will  appreciate  what  it  is  to  live 
and  die  without  hope  in  God. 

"  These  remarks  and  the  subject  I  have  discussed  to- 
day, seem  to  me  peculiarly  appropriate  at  this  seasou. 
Some  of  }7ou,  dear  to  my  heart,  who  have  long  attended 
my  humble  efforts  to  preach  the  gospel,  are,  like  David, 
about  to  go  forth  to  encounter  danger ;  my  heart  yearns 
for  you  when  I  think  of  the  temptations  that  lie  in  wait 
for  you  so  thickly  along  the  pathway  of  life.  The  straight 

.  and  narrow  way  of  truth,  with  all  its  beautiful  simplicity, 
is  so  apt  to  appear  forbidding  to  the  warm  imagination 

,  of  youth,  that  the  seductions  therefrom  are  too  often  suc- 
cessful. '  Where- withal,'  said  the  wisest  of  men,  'shall  a 
young  man  cleanse  his  way  ?'  And  this  remark  implies 
the  difficulty  of  correct  deportment  at  such  an  age.  But 
if  youth  is  the  period  of  warm  passions,  it  is  also  that  of 
heart- tenderness.  Habit  and  skepticism  have  not  then 
made  callous  the  affections  of  the  soul.     Oh  !  my  young 

.hearers,  let  me  beseech  you  to  love  the  Lamb  of  God, 


Mr.    Grey.  211 

while  you  are  yet  in  the  innocence  and  joy  of  the  morn. 
Let  not  the  pleasures  and  vanities  of  this  life  pall  on  your 
taste,  before  you  begin  the  great  work  of  preparation  for 
eternity.  Ask  of  the  libertine  if  he  has  found  rest  amid 
his  voluptuous  indulgences,  and  you  will  find  him  mis- 
erable. Go  to  the  Sybarite,  who  is  too  refined  to  seek 
pleasure  in  the  gross  joys  of  the  sensualist,  and  he  will 
tell  you  his  beautiful  dreams  of  bliss  are  all  unrealized. 
Go  to  the  man  of  ambition,  and  he  will  say  the  shouts  of 
popular  applause  are  but  two  often  the  empty  clamor  of 
ignorance.  Inquire  of  him  who  revels  in  the  delights  of 
fashionable  society,  and  with  experience  he  will  agree 
with  Shenstone, 

'  Whoe'er  has  traveled  life's  dull  round, 
Where'er  its  stages  may  have  been. 
May  sigh  to  think  he  still  has  found 
The  warmest  welcome  at  an  inn.' 

"  Oh  !  my  brethren,  trust  to  the  experience  of  all  men, 
when  they  tell  you  the  fleeting  joys  of  this  world  turn  to 
ashes  like  Dead  Sea  fruit  upon  our  lips.  And  now,  in 
conclusion,  let  us  take  to  our  hearts  Saul's  benediction  to 
David,  and  I  say  to  those  of  you  about  to  go  out  into  the 
great  world,  "  May  the  Lord  go  with  you ;  and  may  the 
grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  love  of  God,  and 
the  fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost  be  with  us  all,  evermore." 

After  the  services  had  ended,  Philip  and  Rosamond 
lingered  in  the  church-yard,  walking  slowly  among  the 
monuments.  The  effect  of  the  deep,  shadowy  quiet  was 
heightened  by  the  presence  of  the  dead.  Mr.  Grey's  ser- 
mon had  much  affected  Philip,  for  he  well  knew  he  was 
uppermost  in  the  good  man's  thoughts,  in  the  choice  of 


212  The  Heirs  of  Si  Kilda. 

his  subject.  The  pointed  allusions  to  himself;  the  un- 
usual fervor  of  manner,  and  the  unbidden  tears,  which 
at  times  welled  up  in  the  minister's  eyes,  were  all  unmis- 
takable symptoms  of  the  affectionate  interest  on  the  part 
of  the  teacher  in  his  former  pupil.  Mr.  Grey,  on  leaving 
the  chapel,  and  seeing  the  young  couple  near  the  marble 
shaft  raised  to  Templeton  St.  George's  men: ory,  joined 
them  and  said  : 

"  My  children,  I  gave  you  my  farewell  warning  to-day. 
You  are  both  going  out  from  the  homes  which  have  so 
long  sheltered  you  from  the  hardships  and  temptations 
of  life.  I  trust  you  will  both  treasure  up  what  I  have 
said,  and  remember  that  love  dictated  the  counsel." 

"  Be  sure,  Mr.  Grey,"  said  Philip,  "  I  shall  never  cease 
to  remember  and  reverence  you.  Your  sermon  to-day 
lays  me  under  fresh  obligations,  and  I  am  sure,  while  life 
and  reason  last,  I  shall  frequently  recall  your  counsel  and 
example.  Rosamond  and  myself  were  just  speaking  of 
you,  sir." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Grey,"  said  Rosamond,  "  we  have  been  say- 
ing such  things  about  you  as  we  really  felt.  We  are  older 
than  most  boys  and  girls  when  sent  from  home  for  the 
first  time,  and  with  the  care  that  has  been  bestowed  upon 
us  we  should  be  recreant  to  forget  the  good  advice  you 
have  so  often  given  us." 

"  Philip,  when  you  are  at  the  University  I  still  love 
as  my  Alma  Mater,  and  you,  Rosamond,  in  that  giddy 
city,  I  desire  you  both  to  write  me  whenever  your  minds 
are  troubled  with  doubt  and  temptation,  and  I  will 
endeavor  in  my  replies  to  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  with 
man.  Examine  the  foundations  of  our  religion,  and  see 
how  from   Abraham  to  the   present  day,  not  only  the 


Mr.  Grey.  213 

prophecies  have  been  fulfilled,  but  see  in  the  types  and 
shadows  the  coming  of  Christ  foretold  as  plainly  as  in 
the  rapt  visions  of  Isaiah.  The  struggle  between 
•Christianity  and  infidelity  still  continues,  and  is  ever 
■assuming  new  phases  in  the  lapse  of  time.  Rest  assured 
that  a  system  which  has  triumphed  so  long  will  survive 
unimpaired  all  future  objections.  I  desire  you  to  have 
your  faith  serene,  and  in  all  your  investigations  on  this 
momentous  subject,  humbly  trust  in  God  for  the  truth, 
and  he  will  solve  every  doubt  which  may  arise." 

Philip  felt  a  melancholy  satisfaction  in  surveying  the 
objects  around  which,  since  his  infancy,,  had  been  so  fami- 
liar to  his  eyes.  He  was  on  the  eve  of  his  first  consider- 
able separation  from  them,  and  knew  it  would  be  years 
before  he  again  should  know  Ellesmere  as  his  settled 
domicile.  It  was  natural  that  one  who  had  been  reared 
in  so  much  affection  should  now  feel  distressed,  as  the 
shades  of  the  lastevening  at  home  deepened  around  him. 
Long  and  tender  were  his  conferences  with  Mariana  and 
Rosamond.  The  beautiful  blind  girl  was  giving  up  her 
dearest  earthly  joy,  but  never  a  word  escaped  her  to  sad- 
den the  brother  whose  future  usefulness  much  depended 
on  a  wise  separation  from  his  home.  Rosamond  perhaps 
felt  a  keener  pang  in  parting:  for  deep  as  was  the  sister's 
love,  there  was  now  in  the  heart  of  the  cousin  a  passion 
to  which  all  other  emotions  pale  their  ineffectual  fires. 
Her  tall,  slender  figure  had  latterly  acquired  wonderful 
grace,  and  the  dark  eyes  seemed  to  have  deepened  to 
fathomless  profundity,  with  their  ever-changing  betrayal 
of  the  heart's  images- 


214  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PHILIP    AT    COLLEGE. 

u  There  in  each  breast  each  active  power  dilates 
Which  broils  whole  nations,  and  convulses  states; 
And  in  a  smaller  range,  a  smaller  sphere, 
The  dark  deformities  of  man  appear. 
Yet  there  the  gentler  virtues  kindred  claim, 
There  Friendship  lights  her  pure  untainted  flame, 
There  mild  Benevolence  delights  to  dwell, 
And  sweet  Contentment  rests  without  her  cell." 

— Childhood. 

Philip  had  matriculated  at  the  University  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  senior  class,  and  Arthur  Kean,  having  accom- 
panied him,  was  in  the  law  school.  Judge  Eustace's 
watchful  care  had  not  relaxed  in  its  attention  to  the 
comfort  of  his  grandson,  now  that  increasing  years  had 
borne  him  from  his  immediate  presence.  An  agent,  sent 
from  Ellesmere,  had  rented  for  Philip  and  Arthur  Kean 
the  spare  rooms  of  a  widowed  lady,  who  lived  in  the 
village,  close  to  the  walls  encompassing  the  college  campus, 
and  on  their  arrival  they  found  every  thing  arranged  for 
immediate  possession.  The  buildings  and  grounds  at- 
tached to  the  institution,  the  pretty  village  and  pleasant 
surrounding  landscape  atoned  for  much  of  the  enjoyment 
Philip  had  left  behind  him  in  the  beautiful  valley  of  his 
nativity.  He  and  Arthur  Kean  were  soon  strolling 
through  the  walks  where  in  golden-visioned  youth  had 
loitered  so  many  predecessors  since  grown  famous  in  the 
land.  As  they  looked  upon  the  ancient  oaks  they  could 
but  remember  the  orators,  statesmen,  jurists,  and  divines, 
who  had  there  laid  the  foundations  of  their  future  great- 


Philip  al  College.  215 

ness,  and  thrills  of  hope  for  future  emulation  expanded 
the  hearts  so  full  of  homage  to  maturer  powers.  One 
vast  poplar,  towering  the  monarch  of  all  its  surrounding 
companions,  was  pointed  out  as  hallowed  by  many  a  tra- 
dition of  deeds  yet  remembered  in  college  legend. 

Everything  around  wore  a  look  of  studious  repose,  and 
the  venerable  walls  of  the  buildings  seemed  redolent  of 
memories  haunting  their  chambers.  Hundreds  of  stud- 
ents sauntered  on  the  walks,  or  clustered  around  the 
stone  steps  of  the  different  edifices,  while  lusty  shouts 
greeted  the  ears  of  each  luckless  freshman  who  dared 
to  show  himself  unaccompanied  by  an.  older  member  of 
college.  Kean  and  Philip,  being  of  the  class  denominated 
"  newies"  were  thus  saluted  ;  but  someone  knowing  their 
position  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice  the  truth  of  their 
status,  which  acted  like  a  charm,  for  every  one  was  by 
traditional  usage  forced  to  treat  a  senior  as  one  of  earth's 
magnates.  They  were  looked  upon  as  an  aristocracy  in 
their  little  republic,  and  members  of  the  lower  classes 
were  proud  of  the  honor  of  their  notice  and  acquaintance. 
The  sophomores,  who  had  emerged  from  the  thraldom 
of  freshman  year  six  weeks  before,  looked  down  on  their 
successors  in  immeasurable  disdain,  and  were  their  chief 
tormentors.  As  the  two  friends  were  passing  the  front  of 
the  south  building,  they  were  recognized  by  Alfred 
Ridgely,  the  only  son  of  the  master  of  Knowlton  in  St. 
Kilda  Valley.  He  had  been  at  Ellesmere  during  the  past 
vacation,  and  had  just  arrived. 

"  Philip,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  at  the  University,  at 
last/'  said  he.  "  Allow  me  to  extend  my  congratulations 
on  your  success  in  getting  into  the  senior  class;  for  five 
graduates  of  a  respectable  institution,  who  were  desirous 


216  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

of  taking  degrees  here,  were  forced  to  enter  our  class  last 
year  as  we  rose  juniors." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Philip.  "Several  of  the  faculty 
desired  me  to  do  the  same.  They  did  not  object  to  my 
scholarship,  but  disliked  to  grant  diplomas  to  those  who 
have  not  been  members  of  the  University  two  years.  My 
grandfather  had  written  to  the  president,  and  I  suppose 
his  influence  was  the  cause  of  my  success." 

"  The  Governor,  as  we  call  him,"  said  Alfred  Ridgely, 
"  is  a  trump,  and  I  advise  you  to  make  him  your  friend, 
for  in  my  estimation  he  is  one  of  our  first  men,  and  is 
as  kind  as  a  father  to  those  so  fortunate  as  to  attract  his 
esteem." 

"  I  am  much  pleased  with  him,"  said  Philip,  "  but  he 
certainly  would  make  the  worst  model  for  a  statue  of 
Apollo  I  have  ever  seen  among  men  not  actually  deform- 
ed. There  is  much  dignity  and  kindness  in  his  face,  but 
I  do  not  believe  that  even  his  wife  could  have  ever 
thought  him  handsome." 

"  I  am  not  certain  of  that,"  said  Ridgely,  "for  I  have 
often  heard  women  speak  of  the  beauty  of  their  husbands 
whose  charms  were  undiscoverable  to  other  eyes.  Shak- 
spearedid  not  over-step  the  modesty  of  nature  very  much 
when  he  made  Bottom  declare,  'Truth,  reason  and  love 
keep  little  company  together.'  " 

Frederick  Compton,  having  joined  them,  had  been 
pointing  out  to  Kean  so  many  students,  that  the  latter 
was  surprised  at  the  amount  of  information  acquired  in 
the  two  days  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  University. 
Philip  invited  his  two  acquaintances  to  tea  with  him  that 
evening,  and  they  were  soon  in  his  rooms.  Alfred 
Ridgely  was  four  years  older  than  Philip,  and  had  been 


Philip  at  College.  Ill 

much  of  his  time  absent  from  home;  so  the  two  young 
men  had  seen  little  of  each  other  for  years,  except  in  va- 
cation. After  supper,  Philip  joined  his  guests  in  their 
enjoyment  of  the  Virginia  weed,  for  in  reaching  his  col- 
lege dignity  he  had  taken  a  step  beyond  occasional  cigars 
to  the  superior  dignity  of  the  learned  pipe. 

"  Well,  Philip,"  said  Fred.  Compton,  "this  is  not  like 
running  red  foxes  and  getting  snapped  up  by  wounded 
wolves." 

"  No,"  answered  Philip  ;  "  but  as  Reginald  Vane  is  to 
marry  cousin  Helen,  she  will  keep  him  so  close  at  home, 
game  will  be  abundant  by  the  time  we  get  back.  He  lias 
promised  to  keep  the  cover  at  the  foot  of  Sorrell's  Peak 
inviolate  until  we  can  make  another  raid  upon  its  peace." 

"  Philip,"  said  Ridgely,  "  you  will  have  to  be  careful 
with  your  horses,  or  you  will  have  them  ruined  here.  I 
brought  Nelly  Gwynn  with  me  last  winter,  and  I  fear  my 
friends  have  injured  her  so  much  she  will  never  recover. 
It  was  a  rare  scene,  wThen  Bob  Truesdale,  to  whom  I 
loaned  her,  spoilt  for  the  sake  of  a  frolic  one  of  the  gamest 
animals  I  ever  saw." 

"  How  was  that,  Ridgely?"  cried  all. 

"  It  was  a  muster  day  for  the  militia,  and  as  the  regi- 
ment was  to  parade  near  the  University,  many  of  the 
students  went  to  the  field  to  witness  the  evolutions  of 
their  country's  defenders.  After  much  bargaining  among 
the  countrymen,  a  large  portion  of  the  students  mounted 
themselves  for  a  drill  under  Truesdale,  who  had  been  a 
member  of  a  volunteer  cavalry  company  at  home.  The 
colonel  of  the  militia  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  this  op- 
position on  the  field  which  he  had  supposed  the  peculiar 
theatre  of  his  own  glory,  and  sent  a  guard,  armed  with 


218  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

unloaded  shot  guns,  to  expel  the  intruders,  by  this  time 
often  charging  and  wheeling  in  alarming  proximity  to 
his  regimental  flanks.  The  improvised  cavalrymen  had, 
by  general  contribution,  purchased  a  barrel  of  whisky, 
and  were  ready  to  say  with  Tom  O'Shanter: 

'  With  tupenny  we  fear  no  evil, 
With  usquebah  we'd  face  the  devil.' 

The  demand  made  by  the  guard,  that  they  should  quit 
the  field,  was  resented  as  an  insult  to  free  Americans  ; 
and  soon,  instigated  by  drink  and  their  own  native  dev- 
iltry, the  students  had  the  luckless  squad  of  infantry  in 
rapid  retreat  on  their  main  body.  The  colonel  had  just 
deployed  his  command,  when  by  order  of  Truesdale  the 
literary  horsemen,  howling  like  savages,  charged  in  mad 
career  full  upon  the  startled  militia.  Never  was  field  so 
quickly  won  or  ingloriously  abandoned.  The  mounted 
officers  led  the  confused  mass,  as  with  flying  feet  they 
sought  the  shelter  of  a  neighboring  wood.  Elated  with 
their  victory,  they  came  to  town  with  the  horses  they  had 
hired  for  only  an  hour,  and  made  night  hideous  with 
their  clamorous  charges  through  the  streets.  The  militia 
were  so  badly  frightened  they  recovered  their  horses  as 
quietly  as  possible,  making  but  small  mention  of  a  dis- 
aster which  doubtless  many  of  them  considered  a  defeat 
as  fearful  if  not  as  bloody  as  Waterloo  itself." 

"  What  did  the  university  authorities  say  on  the  sub- 
ject ?"  said  Kean.  "  The  story  must  have  reached  their 
ears." 

"  They  doomed  Truesdale  to  perpetual  exile  from  these 
sacred  haunts." 

"  Is  our  Greek  Professor  a  man  of  violent  temper  ?" 


Philip  at   College.  219 

asked  Philip.  "  My  first  impression  led  me  to  think  he 
was  very  pleasant,  but  in  his  examination  of  me  on  the 
Greek  tragedies,  after  dwelling,  as  I  thought,  long  enough 
on  the  third  syllable  of  Philodetes  to  please  the  ear  of  the 
most  fastidious  critic,  I  heard  him,  as  it  were,  gasping  for 
breath.  I  looked  at  his  countenance,  and  O  horror !  he 
was  glaring  on  me  like  a  fiend.  His  eyes  flashed  with 
fury— the  muscles  of  his  face  hideously  distorted — and 
when  I  discovered  the  cause  of  all  this  wrath,  it  was  oc- 
casioned by  my  shortening  that  ante-penult." 

Before  Philip  had  ended  this  description,  Ridgely  fell 
into  a  fit  of  ungovernable  laughter,  astonishing  the  others, 
who  could  not  imagine  any  ground  for  so  much  mirth  in 
Philip's  account  of  ill-humor  iu  the  Professor. 

"  Heaven  send  us  no  direr  wrath  than  swells  the  genial 
heart  of  that  man,"  said  Ridgely.  "  Philip,  excuse  me, 
for  your  description  of  Mr.  Reiter's  horror  of  a  false 
quantity,  and  the  idea  of  that  harmless  gentleman's  rage, 
was  so  amusing  I  could  not  control  myself.  There  is  not 
a  gentler  man  alive,  and  the  fury  you  imagined  as  con- 
torting his  face  was  nothing  but  an  unfortunate  habit  of 
making  wry  faces,  to  be  rid  of  which  he,  I  expect,  would 
give  a  kingdom.  I  have  never  known  a  kinder  heart. 
Whenever  in  a  position  to  justify  it.  he  treats  the  youngest 
student  with  as  much  consideration  as  Gov.  Young  him- 
self. His  eccentricity  has  enabled  the  wags  of  all  the 
classes  to  teaze  him  unmercifully,  but  his  good  temper 
survives  unharmed  all  these  trials." 

Occasional  shouts  were  heard  in  the  campus,  which 
soon  swelled  into  a  wild  uproar ;  and  his  friends  know- 
ing nothing  of  what  they  meant  were  told  by  Ridgely 
that   the   blacking  club   was   going  its  rounds,  and  the 


220  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

members  amusing  themselves  with  painting  the  faces  of 
the  freshmen.  A  pistol  shot  was  fired  about  this  time, 
and  the  report  reached  the  four  young  men  through  the 
open  windows  as  they  sat  conversing.  This  so  excited 
Frederick  Compton,  that  he  proposed  to  go  to  the  build- 
ings to  learn  the  nature  of  the  difficulty  calling  for  the 
use  of  deadly  weapons. 

"  I  advise  you,  Compton,  to  stay  where  you  are,"  said 
Ridgely.  "  The  faculty  will  certainly  be  on  hand  to  put 
a  stop  to  the  affair,  and  your  going  there  might  subject 
you  to  misconstruction." 

"  Yes,  I  would  certainly  remain  here,  Frederick,"  said 
Kean.  "  These  violent  aggressions  of  the  older  students 
upon  the  young  boys  just  from  home  are  wrong  and 
should  be  discountenanced.  I  can  see  neither  wit  nor 
propriety  in  the  invasion,  by  strong  and  experienced 
young  men,  of  the  room  of  a  poor  stripling  grieving  for 
his  newly-lost  protectors.  Instead  of  there  being  pleasure 
in  such  proceedings,  they  are,  in  my  opinion,  unmanly 
and  disgraceful.  I  suppose  those  who  participate  in  such 
things  think  it  ludicrous  if  a  friendless  boy  should  be 
terrified  at  the  menaces  of  a  large  crowd  hideously  dis- 
guised in  their  clothing  and  the  liquor  which  has  made 
them  brutes." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  expect  to  join  in  the  blacking,"  said 
Compton.     "  I  only  wished  to  see  what  was  going  on." 

"  Then,  Fred.,"  said  Philip,  "  you  are  countenancing 
these  proceedings.  I  am  determined  never  to  engage  in 
anything  I  should  be  ashamed  to  confess." 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  front  door,  and  Philip's 
servant,  Reuben,  coming  into  the  room,  announced  Gov. 
Young.     Philip  at  once  went  to  meet  hira. 


Philip  at  College.  221 

"  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad  to  find  you  at  home 
this  evening,  as  there  is  a  serious  disturbance  among  the 
students.  I  hope  you  will  always  continue  to  act  with 
the  same  discretion,  when  the  folly  of  others  leads  them 
to  such  acts  as  you  hear  going  on  in  the  campus.  Your 
father  and  grandfather  were  students  of  whom  this  insti- 
tution has  ever  been  proud,  and  I  trust  you  will  follow 
their  example." 

"  I  shall  assuredly  try,  sir." 

Gov.  Young  glanced  in  to  see  who  was  present,  and 
taking  down  their  names  departed. 

"  Gov.  Young  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men,  in 
many  respects,  I  ever  knew,"  said  Ridgely.  "  He  was 
born  and  reared  with  but  slender  advantages,  and  yet 
has  not  only  reached  high  judicial  honor  and  the  chief 
magistracy  of  his  State,  but  is  now  recognized  as  one  of 
the  ablest  college  presidents  of  the  land." 

Four  students,  unacquainted  with  Philip,  called  at  the 
door  to  request  him  to  allow  one  of  them,  who  had 
received  a  pistol  shot  in  the  shoulder,  to  use  one  of  his 
rooms  until  he  could  obtain  medical  assistance.  This 
was  of  course  granted.  The  wounded  man  was  a  fair- 
haired  youth  from  one  of  the  extreme  Southern  States, 
and  the  pallor  and  nervous  twitchingsof  his  countenance 
plainly  told  of  the  torture  he  was  wndergoing.  He  was 
a  young  man  of  noble  presence,  and  Philip  wondered  at 
the  singular  combination  of  grace  and  stoicism  exhibited 
in  his  suffering.  He  was  laid  upon  a  lounge,  and  one  of 
his  friends  went  for  a  doctor.  Charles  Loundes,  (for 
this  was  his  name),  by  an  odd  mixture  of  gentleness  and 
utter  disregard  of  danger,  was  a  great  favorite  among  the 
hot-spurs,  and  by  his  talents  won  the  respectful  consider- 


222  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

ation  of  those  who  could  not  commend  his  reckless  lead- 
ership in  all  the  frolics  and  mischief  for  months  past 
Philip,  as  he  took  his  hand  in  introduction,  could  but 
observe  the  high-born  courtesy  triumphing  over  pain. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  hurt  seriously,  Mr.  Loundes," 
said  Philip,  bending  over  him  and  removing  the  bloody 
clothing. 

"  I  fear  I  am,"  said  the  sufferer,  "but  it  is  just  punish- 
ment for  countenancing  conduct  which  my  own  better 
judgment  condemned  as  brutal.  I  was  knocked  up  last 
year,  in  trying  to  prevent  the  same  thing  to  which  I  was 
at  least  consenting  this  time.  My  chief  fear  is  that 
the  matter  will  reach  the  faculty  and  cause  my  expul- 
sion." 

"Reuben,"  said  Kean,  "bring  plenty  of  cold  water.  I 
am  confident  that  will  be  the  medical  treatment  prescribed 
when  the  physician  arrives." 

Dr.  Johnson  soon  made  his  appearance,  and  having 
extracted  the  ball,  which  had  not  penetrated  as  deeply 
as  at  first  expected,  administered  anodynes  both  from  his 
medical  chest  and  the  fascination  of  his  conversation. 

"  Mr.  Loundes,"  said  he,  "  you  seem  unlucky.  Last 
year  about  this  time  you  were  laid  up  with  a  broken 
head,  and  now  you  are  again  under  the  weather.  The 
fates  seem  fond  of  playing  you  tricks." 

"  Yes,  Doctor,  I  am  an  unlucky  dog,  although  many  of 
my  friends  think  I  was  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  my 
mouth." 

"  You  had  better  be  still  here  until  morning,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  that  is,  if  you  do  not  incommode  the  gentlemen 
occupying  these  rooms." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Philip.    "  We  shall  be  glad  to  enter* 


Philip  at  College.  223 

tain  Mr.  Loundes.     If  he  desires  it  he  can  occupy  one  of 
our  rooms  until  he  recovers." 

"  I  am  under  many  obligations  to  you,  Mr.  Eustace,  for 
your  kindness,"  said  Loundes,  "  but  I  must  get  back  as 
early  as  possible  to  my  chum.  He  will  be  lonely  if  I  stay 
until  this  wound  heals,  for  I  expect  it  will  keep  me  a 
close  prisoner  for  at  least  a  month.  I  think,  after  an 
hour  or  two,  it  will  be  best  for  me,  under  the  friendly 
cover  of  the  night,  to  regain  my  own  quarters.  I  should 
have  occupied  them  as  soon  as  I  came  to  grief,  but  I  found 
they  were  in  possession  of  the  faculty,  and  had  to  change 
my  base  and  assume  a  new  position." 

"  Well,  go  when  you  please,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  but  be 
particular,  and  do  not  jar  yourself.  If  you  will  keep 
your  arm  in  a  sling,  and  not  move  the  injured  muscles, 
I  can  promise  you  speedy  restoration,  for  it  seems  you  are 
hard  to  kill  anyhow." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Dave  Fisher's  case  to-day, 
Doctor?"  said  Ridgely. 

"  He  is  very  nearly  gone,  and  there  is  scarcely  a  hope 
of  his  recovery.  He  staid  here  during  the  vacation,  and 
has  not  seen  any  of  his  family  for  two  years.  The  pros- 
pect of  seeing  them  no  more  on  earth  seems  very  distress- 
ing to  him,  and  I  wish  they  lived  near  enough  to  reach 
him  in  time,  as,  in  that  event,  I  would  telegraph  im 
mediately." 

"  He  was  a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,"  said  Ridgely,  with  a 
sigh,  "indeed  a  very  Yorick  in  disposition.  I  have  often 
sent  for  him  to  night  suppers  in  my  room,  and,  though 
there  were  but  few  present,  he  would  make  an  after-din- 
ner speech  witty  enough  to  set  any  table  in  a  roar.  Alas! 
poor  Fisher,  where  are  his  jests  now  ?" 


224  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  Not  to  change  the  subject,  Ridgely,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"Mr.  Eustace,  you  must  be  in  some  way  related  to  our 
present  Governor." 

"  I  am  his  son,  sir." 

"  I  had  supposed  so,  for  you  bear  strong  resemblance 
in  feature  to  him  ;  but  in  your  length  of  limb  you  are 
more  like  your  grandfather.  You  must  be  full  six  feet 
in  height." 

"  That  is  my  present  altitude,  sir." 

"  What  has  become  of  Percival  St.  George?  I  knew 
him  in  Paris,  and  I  am  confident  he  was  then  the  hand- 
somest man  alive.  We  went  together  to  the  opera,  and 
heard  that  wonderful  girl  whose  subsequent  death,  I 
learned,  so  nearly  resulted  in  his  own." 

"My  cousin  is  nearly  the  same  he  has  been  for  the  last 
ten  years,  and  preserves  much  of  his  comliness,  but  is 
much  altered  from  what  he  was  when  you  saw  him." 

"  I  was  never  so  attracted  by  a  man/'  said  the  Doctor, 
"and  for  hours  I  have  looked  on,  enraptured  with  his 
ceaseless  gaiety,  and  half  realized  he  was  some  embodi- 
ment of  those  old  dreams  which  peopled  our  woods  with 
fauns.  His  person  was  the  study  of  artists,  and  the 
charm  of  his  manner  was  such,  that  it  seemed  I  could 
never  tire  of  his  presence.  How  he  could  deny  himself 
to  society,  when  his  simple  appearance  was  sufficient  to 
gain  all  hearts,  passes  my  comprehension.  I  have  sighed 
to  think  his  beauty  and  vivacity  should  ever  be  clouded 
and  lost  in  the  ruin  of  age.  I  was  never  sentimental 
about  women,  but  Percival  St.  George  interested  me  so  I 
shall  never  forget  him.  Mr.  Kean,  I  understand  you 
were  in  Europe." 

"  Five  years  of  my  life  were  spent  there,  sir." 


Philip  at  College.  225 

"lam  afraid  we  shall  not  come  up  to  your  ideas  of 
what  a  University  should  be.  Indeed  I  think  it  a  farce 
to  call  a  literary  institution  with  a  law  school  attached  a 
University." 

"It  is  certainly  a  misnomer,"  said  Kean,  "if  we  mean 
by  the  term  to  convey  the  idea  developed  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge,  in  England,  and  similar  seats  of  learning  on 
the  continent.  In  their  numerous  schools  can  be  found 
a  particular  foundation  for  instruction  in  everything 
worth  knowing  among  men." 

Charles  Loundes  now  concluded  that  this  was  a  favor- 
able time  for  him  to  effect  his  retreat,  and  he  soon  reached 
his  room  in  the  south  building,  without  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  faculty.  The  conversation  was  continued 
in  the  room  he  had  left  until  late  in  the  night.  The 
next  day  he  was  doing  so  well  he  was  able  to  entertain 
many  friends  who  came  to  inquire  as  to  his  condition.. 
He  had  been,  since  Truesdale's  expulsion,  the  leader  in 
all  mischief-making  and  tricks  upon  the  faculty.  In  ad- 
dition to  his  fine  presence  and  generosity,  he  was  largely 
gifted  with  natural  eloquence.  There  was  a  singular 
firmness  in  his  adhesion  to  the  strange  ethics  he  had 
adopted,  and  with  many  his  opinions  had  grown  in 
weight,  until  they  possessed  the  sanctions  of  law.  He 
believed  it  the  moral  duty  of  every  collegian  to  wage  war 
on  the  faculty  whenever  opportunity  afforded.  This  he 
held  to  be  a  natural  and  fore-ordained  state  of  things,  not 
to  be  prosecuted  however  to  any  further  injury  of  the 
body  or  estate  of  his  fancied  enemy  than  circumstances 
required.  The  faculty  were  to  be  treated  with  respect  in 
their  presence,  but  on  other  occasions  everything  which 
did  not  involve  positive  injury  to  their  character  became 
15 


226  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

legitimate  as  an  engine  to  bring  them  into  ridicule. 
Added  to  this,  he  was  the  best  shot,  the  most  daring  rider, 
and  the  hardest  head  to  confuse  with  liquor,  and  nothing 
is  wanting  to  account  for  his  ascendency  but  the  mention 
of  his  lavish  expenditure  of  his  wealth. 

The  next  morning  he  was  lying  propped  up  in  bed, 
and  was  entertaining  his  friends  in  a  style  which  evinced 
no  depression' of  spirit  from  his' recent  accident.  He  had 
written,  by  the  hand  of  a  crony,  a  note  to  the  young 
freshman  who  shot  him,  commending  his  pluck,  and 
disclaiming  any  ill  feeling  on  his  part.  He  freely  avowed 
that  he  was  the  man  hit,  and  threw  himself  on  the  boy's 
generosity  to  say  nothing  of  the  affair.  He  had  been 
waiting  for  more  than  an  hour  to  hear  what  the  lad  would 
say  to  his  peaceful  overtures,  and  nothing  had  been  heard 
from  his  trusty  commissioner,  Larkins,  except  that  things 
were  working  well.  This  information  was  conveyed  on  a 
small  piece  of  folded  paper  thrown  out  of  the  window  to 
;a  confederate  awaiting  despatches  below.  At  length  the 
envoy  returned  with  a  message  from  Sidney  Hay,  that  as 
the  affair  had  taken  its  present  turn,  he  was  sorry  to  have 
injured  Loundes,  and  would  visit  him  during  the  day. 
The  crowd  in  Hay's  room  the  night  before  were  disposed 
to  beat  him  for  firing  the  pistol,  but  when  the  weapon  was 
wrested  from  his  hands,  and  the  blacking  consummated. 
Loundes  had  gravely  assured  the  crowd  he  would  hold 
any  man  personally  responsible  for  further  injury  to  the 
boy.  This  was  sufficient  to  secure  him  from  further  moles- 
■  tation. 

"  Well,  Charley,"  said  Henry  Norton,  "  where  did  you 
take  yourself  last  night,  when  you  found  the  faculty  in 
your  room?" 


Philip  at  College.  227 

*'  I  went  to  Mrs.  Bowles'  house,  now  occupied  by  two 
new  men.  Eustace  and  Kean  are  their  names,  and  they 
are  living  in  a  style  surpassing  anything  I  have  ever  seen 
among  students." 

"  Ridgely  says  Eustace  is  as  rich  as  a  nabob,"  said 
Norton,  "and  I  suppose  he  can  afford  it,  but  I  don't  see 
any  necessity  for  his  giving  himself  such  airs." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  thinks  of  his  manner,  Norton. 
Ridgely  says  he  has  been  all  his  life  at  home,  shut  up 
with  grandees  and  private  tutors.  I  expect  this  has 
caused  the  hauteur  you  dislike,  but  in  ray  opinion  he 
has  the  finest  manner  I  have  ever  seen  in  a  fellow  who 
knows  so  little  of  the  world." 

"  How  did  he  receive  you,  Charley?"  said  another. 

"  Well,  he  was  on  his  dignity  until  he  heard  I  was 
hurt,  and  then  he  became  as  pleasant  as  a  May  morning. 
He  has  two  splendid  horses  here,  and,  they  s&y,  many 
more  just  as  fine  at  home." 

"I  saw  them  going  to  water  yesterday,"  said  Larkins, 
"  and  I  cannot  tell,  for  the  life  of  me,  which  I  prefer,  the 
black  or  the  gray.  Charlie,  I  need  not  ask  you  how  you 
liked  that  wine  he  gave  us;  I  could  see  how  you  relished 
it." 

"  A  drink  fit  for  the  gods !"  said  Loundes. 

Dr.  Johnson  now  made  his  appearance,  followed  by 
Philip's  man  Reuben,  who  came  to  present  his  master's 
compliments,  and  to  ask  how  Mr.  Loundes  had  rested, 
and  further  to  beg  his  acceptance  of  a  few  bottles  of 
wine,  hoping  he  would  find  them  beneficial  in  his  sick- 
ness. 

"  Loundes,"  said  the  doctor,  "  the  wine  will  be  of  service 


228  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda.- 

to  you,  if  properly  used — but  I  need  not  say  too  much.' 
will  endanger  your  life." 

"  I  will  drink  it  to  a  drop  in  accordance  with  your  di- 
rections. Larkins,  write  to  Mr.  Eustace,  and  say  I  ana 
doing  well,  and  would  be  pleased  to  see  him  here.  Tender 
him  ray  thanks  for  his  kindness- last  night,  and  the  wine 
he  has  sent," 

After  Dr.  Johnston  had  examined  and  dressed  the 
wound,  he  filled  his  pipe  and  sat  down  for  a  talk. 

"  Loundes,"  said  he,  "  those  young  men  down  at  Mrs. 
Bowles'  are  fine  fellows,  and  I  do  not  know  when  I  have 
met  two  strangers  who  have  impressed  me  more  agree- 
ably. They  are  men  of  good  sense  and  have  evidently 
been  well  raised." 

"  They  are  devilish  nice  fellows,  doctor;  at  least,  Eus- 
tace is.  I  cannot  say  that  I  fancy  Kean  so  much.  Is  not 
Eustace  fine  looking?" 

"  His  is  the  most  remarkable  family  in  that  respect  I 
ever  saw.  They  are  all  very  much  alike.  You  have 
seen  Gov.  Eustace  here,  and  know  his  appearance,  but 
Percival  St.  George,  of  whom  you  heard  me  speak  last 
night,  when  he  was  young  would  have  attracted  Venus 
from  Adonis  himself." 

Philip,  with  no  effort  of  his  own,  was  now  winning  the 
favorable  opinion  of  those  students  whose  acquaintance 
could  not  be  reasonably  expected  to  afford  much  advan- 
tage beyond  an  enlargement  of  his  knowledge  of  human 
character.  With  most  youths  this  sudden  introduction 
to  the  favor  of  one  like  Charles  Loundes  would  have  been 
too  apt  to  result  in  disaster,  unless  the  bad  influence 
should  be  counteracted  by  something  extraordinary.  In 
the  evening  after  prayers,  Philip  and  Kean  rode  out  on- 


PJiilip  at  College.  229 

horseback,  and  enjoyed  the  soft  outlines  of  the  surround- 
ing countr}r.  The}'  found  that  the  village,  which  sur- 
rounded the  University  on  three  sides,  was  situated  on  a 
lofty  hill  with  many  beautiful  views  around.  It  fell  far 
below  the  attractiveness  of  the  grander  elevations  which 
held  in  everlasting  embrace  the  happy  Valley  of  St. 
Kilda.  Philip's  mind  and  heart  went  back  to  those 
fondly  remembered  haunts,  and  dwelt  tenderly  on  the 
memory  of  his  fair  home,  and  the  dear  ones  clustered 
around  the  family  altars  at  Ellesmere.  On  their  return 
they  rode  into  the  campus  and  up  to  the  building  where 
Loundes  lay  disabled.  Kean  sat  on  horseback  and  held 
the  horses  while  Philip  made  a  hasty  call  on  the  wounded 
chief. 

The  students  gathered  around  to  inspect  the  beauty  of 
the  steeds,  and  Black  Sultan  resented  the  unusual  con- 
course and  scrutiny  by  angry  symptoms  of  his  displeasure, 
but  Philip  having  returned,  the  proud  animal  moved  off 
as  if  half  conscious  of  the  applause  he  was  exciting. 
The  next  morning  was  the  occurrence  of  his  first  Sabbath 
at  college,  and  at  the  ringing  of  the  bell  the  two  friends 
repaired  to  the  chapel.  Here  they  observed  several  pretty 
faces  among  the  village  girls,  but  one,  a  daughter  of  a 
professor,  was  surpassingly  love!}'.  Philip  thought  of 
Mariana  and  Rosamond  as  soon  as  he  saw  her,  although 
her  beauty  was  of  an  entirely  different  order.  The 
heiress  of  Thorndale's  face  was  full  of  passionate  longing, 
and  her  full,  dark  eyes  seemed  over  aglow  with  some 
subtle  enthusiasm,  while  the  grey  eyes  of  the  University 
beauty  were  cold  and  passionless.  The  serenity  of  Mariana, 
with  her  abstract  and  heavenly  illumination,  seemed  half 
(unconscious  of  things  around,  but  Lilly  Seaton  was  full 


230  The  Hem  of  St.  Kilda. 

of  observation  for  everything  that  transpired  in  her 
watchful  presence.  Philip  had  heard  Alfred  Ridgely 
frequently  refer  to  her  attractiveness,  for  he,  like  a  host 
of  others,  was  desperately  in  love  with  the  belle  of  the- 
college. 

One  of  the  professors  was  to  preach,  and  took  for  his- 
text  the  parable  of  Dives  and  Lazarus.  He  was  a  short, 
stout  man,  with  a  harsh  voice  and  large,  fier}r  e^^es,  and 
was  full  of  curious  ideas  of  elocution.  He  wTas  always- 
insisting  on  the  student's  suiting  their  voices  to  the  mat- 
ter declaimed,,  and,  never  being  satisfied  with  their  per- 
formances, was  eagerly  criticized  himself  whenever  an 
opportunity  offered.  He  commenced  his  sermon  with  a 
dry  recital  of  the  story  of  the  rich  man's  profligac\;  how 
he  spent  his  time  in  purple  and  fine  clothing,  and  amid 
his  feasts  disregarded  the  hungry  pauper  at  his  gate,, 
until  between  the  tedious  story  he  made  of  it,  and  the 
humdrum  tone  of  his  voice,  the  performance  became  so 
decidedly  soj)orific  on  a  large  portion  of  an  audience 
Boanerges  could  not  have  kept  awake,  that  many  were- 
fast  asleep.  Suddenly  he  reached  ths  end  of  his  story. 
The  rich  man  had  lost  his  purple  and  fine  linen,  he  had 
consumed  his  last  good  dinner,  and  with  Lazarus  was  m 
the  land 

"From  whose  bourne  no- traveller  returns."" 

Dives  in  torment  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  beheld  the- 
pauper  in  Abraham's  bosom.  The  venerable  stickler  for 
suiting  the  voice  to  the  matter,  carried  out  his  theory,  and 
in  a  voice  of  thunder  shouted  the  vain  imploration  re- 
corded of  Dives.    The  effect  was  an  instantaneous  awak- 


Philip  at  College,  231 

ening  of  all  the  sleepers,  and  called  forth  a  storm  of 
laughter  from  the  entire  congregation.  Philip  had  always 
been  remarkable  for  his  decorum  in  church,  but  this 
scene  was  too  much  for  his  gravity. 

His  careful  and  elaborate  training  in  the  classics  and 
higher  mathematics  did  not  afford  Philip  an  opportunity 
of  displaying  his  erudition,  as  his  class  had  finished  these 
studies  with  the  junior  year,  but  in  natural  science, 
metaphysics,  and  constitutional  law,  he  found  many 
competitors  who  occasioned  him  severe  application  to 
keep  pace  with  the  foremost.  Alfred  Ridgely  and  several 
others  were  young  men  of  close  study  and  fine  abilities, 
but  he  was  determined  to  fall  behind  none,  and  soon 
occupied  a  position  among  the  leading  minds  of  his  class. 
He  became  a  favorite  with  the  professors  and  the  reading 
men  among  the  students,  and  won  the  hearts  of  all  by 
mingled  firmness  and  suavity.  He  soon  learned  the 
status  of  Charles  Loundesand  his  followers,  and  by  adroit 
management  escaped  being  drawn  into  their  society  more 
than  he  wished.  They  knew  his  love  of  field  sports,  and 
had  heard  of  his  success  in  the  match  between  Tempest 
and  Pepin,  and  these  were  things  that  filled  them  with 
admiration.  He  met  Loundes  and  Norton  one  evening, 
as  he  and  Arthur  Kean  were  visiting  at  the  house  of  one 
of  the  professors.  Lily  Seaton,  having  heard  they  were 
musicians,  induced  them  to  astonish  the  two  madcaps 
with  some  of  the  grand  combinations  which  long  practice 
had  enabled  them  to  produce  together.  Loundes  returned 
to  his  room,  and  declared  that  he  had  always  before  had 
a  contempt  for  men  who  used  the  piano,  as  it  was  only 
fit  for  women  to  play  on,  but  now  he  would  give  half  his 
estate  for  the  skill  of  either.     This  gave  the  two  friends 


232  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

much  eclat  in  the  limited  circle  of  society  in  the  village, 
but  they  had  cultivated  their  musical  taste  for  quiet 
enjoyment,  so  it  was  soon  understood  that  applications 
for  them  to  play  in  mixed  assemblies  were  distasteful. 

The  literary  society  to  which  they  belonged  was  a 
source  of  much  interest  to  both  ;  and  the  long  and  earnest 
debates  were  as  novel  to  Kean  as  to  Philip.  In  Germany, 
in  other  respects,  the  opportunities  of  mental  culture  are 
almost  perfect ;  but  Arthur  had  not  there  enjoyed  the  lib- 
erty of  untrammeled  discussion  ;  here  he  at  once  under- 
stood the  secret  of  frequent  public  eminence  among  the 
graduates  of  this  institution.  It  was  a  matter  of  aston- 
ishment to  him  to  see  young  men,  who  yawned  through 
the  hour  of  recitation,  given  to  the  study  of  Athenian 
and  Roman  genius,  vexing  the  dull  ear  of  night  with  tire- 
less harangues,  whenever  subjects  of  moment  were  selected 
for  debate.  Kean,  knowing  the  importance  of  participa- 
tion in  these  discussions  to  himself,  eagerly  embraced  the 
opportunity  thus  afforded  for  forensic  preparation,  and 
soon  inspired  Philip  with  a  kindred  feeling.  They  early 
discovered  the  advantage  of  their  opponents,  who  had  en- 
joyed years  of  practice  in  this  the  most  cumulative  of  nil 
arts.  No  man.  was  ever  a  great  speaker  at  once ;  for  labor 
and  habit  are  absolutely  essential  in  the  matter.  Charles 
Loundes  was  also  highly  interested,  whenever  the  debates 
had  the  slightest  connection  with  politics,  past  or  present. 

The  leader  of  the  madcaps  had  recovered  from  his 
wound,  and  if  the  faculty  ever  knew  the  secret  of  his  in- 
jury, they  thought  him  sufficiently  punished.  He  was  at 
times  brilliantly  eloquent,  for  nature  seemed  to  have  sup- 
plied him  with  a  store  of  metaphor  and  allusion,  which 
was  never  wanting,  when  occasion  offered,  for  sparkling 


Philip  at  College.  233 

effect.  His  anecdotes,  and  his  mode  of  telling  them,  were 
inimitable;  and  he  often  gained,  by  ridicule,  where  his 
logic  would  have  been  utterly  unavailing.  Kean  and 
Philip  soon  learned  to  respect  him  as  an  opponent,  while 
his  admiration  for  them  tempered  the  sarcasm  with  which 
he  would,  otherwise,  have  assailed  their  positions.  The 
two  societies  were  noted  for  the  dignity  of  bearing  to  be 
observed  in  their  sessions,  and  anything  which  in  a  stu- 
dent's morality  was  thought  dishonorable  in  a  member, 
was  followed  by  summary  expulsion  from  the  body.  This 
was  equivalent  to  banishment  from  college,  for  the  faculty 
allowed  no  student  to  remain  who  had  been  declared,  in 
this  way,  unworthy  of  the  companionship  of  his  peers. 
These  trials  for  grave  misdemeanor  were  solemn  and 
scrupulously  conscientious  in  their  investigations,  and  no 
instance  is  recorded  of  injustice  done  those  who  have  suf- 
fered by  their  judgments.  It  is  true,  that  in  one  case  a 
student  was  accused  and  convicted  of  high  crime  and  ex- 
pelled from  the  society,  who  afterwards  reformed  and  be- 
came a  great  man  in  the  councils  of  the  nation.      ,,  ■ 

Philip  soon  had  occasion  to  witness  the  high  moral 
motives  actuating  his  fellow  students  on  such  occasions. 
A  member  of  his  society,  named  McSnout,  had  frequently 
distrusted  him  bv  his  coarseness  and  ill-nature  in  debate. 
He  was  possessed  of  rugged  good  sense,  but  was  a  bully 
in  disposition.  After  a  desperate  fight  with  Loundes, 
against  whose  supremacy  he  had  plotted,  having  lost  the 
respect  of  gentlemen,  he  became  the  leader  of  the  lowest 
and  most  contemptible  spirits  in  the  institution,  and  was 
in  the  eyes  of  the  faculty  an  unmitigated  nuisance  For 
sometime  he  had  been  too  crafty  for  detection  amid  the 
drunken  debaucheries  in  which  he  passed   nearly  every 


234  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

night;  but  at  last,  in  a  state  of  beastly  intoxication,  after 
the  commission  of  a  flagrant  outrage,  he  was  detected 
and  dismissed.  In  a  few  months  he  would  have  gradu- 
ated, and  his  clique  made  many  complaints,  that  after  his 
long  stay  he  should  thus  miss  his  diploma.  The  sentence 
of  dismission,  unlike  that  of  expulsion,  did  not  involve 
hopelessness  of  return  ;  and  it  was  urged  by  his  friends, 
that  the  society  should  petition  the  faculty  to  allow  him 
to  rejoin  his  class.  Philip  and  a  majority  of  the  members 
arguing  that  prudent  management  in  similar  cases  had 
caused  the  faculty  to  treat  such  applications  with  respect, 
by  which  hardships  under  their  decisions  had  been  reme- 
died, opposed  doing  anything  in  McSnout's  behalf.  To 
do  so  in  such  a  case  as  this,  where  every  one  saw  the  ne- 
cessity of  punishment,  they  thought  would  impair  the 
effect  of  petitions  on  the  part  of  the  society,  whose  judi- 
cious conduct  heretofore  had  led  to  its  success.  In  the 
course  of  the  debates,  one  of  McSnout's  friends  grossly 
insulted  an  inoffensive  young  man,  who  was  courteously 
opposing  his  wishes.  At  the  suggestion  of  the  presiding 
officer,  Philip,  who  was  near  the  offender,  Goals,  promptly 
seized  him,  and,  in  spite  of  his  resistance,  put  him  out  of 
the  hall.  This  was  on  Tuesday  at  a  called  meeting,  and 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  state  that  McSnout's  wishes  were 
refused  by  the  society. 

"  Philip,"  said  Charles  Loundes,  two  nights  later,  in  the 
room  of  the  former,  "  I  advise  you  to  prepare  yourself  for 
a  difficulty.  McSnout  and  Goals,  with  several  others,  are 
going  around  bullying  every  one  who  said  anything 
against  petitioning  for  that  scoundrel's  return.  They 
have  insulted  White,  and  swear  they  will  settle  accounts 
with  you.     Though  I  did  not  say  anything  on  the  occa- 


Philip  at  College.  235 

sion,  for  fear  some  one  might  think  me  actuated  by  the 
old  grudge  existing  between  McSnout  and  myself,  I  have 
come  to  see  you  out,  if  they  dare  show  fight  here.  Where 
is  Kean  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  out  for  a  law  recitation,"  said  Philip. 
"  I  appreciate  your  kindness,  Charles.  Here  is  the  pistol 
with  which  I  shot  the  wolf  last  Christmas,  but  promise 
me  to  reserve  your  fire  until  you  see  an  absolute  ne- 
cessity." 

"  Oh,  never  fear,"  said  Loundes.  "  I  have  waged  seven 
battles  here  with  pistols  in  reach,  but  have  shot  no  one 
as  yet." 

"  I  shall  not  receive  those  visitors  in  my  room,"  said 
Philip,  "  so  we  will  go  to  the  front  porch,  and  await  their 
approach." 

They  went  out  and  took  their  seats  in  the  moonlight, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  they  heard  angry  voices  com- 
ing dowui  the  street.  Several  men  halted  at  the  gate,  one 
of  whom  they  recognized  as  McSnout.  He  inquired  if 
Philip  Eustace  was  in,  and  being  informed  that  he  was, 
came  with  another  to  the  steps. 

"  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  McSnout,  "  I  have  come  to  demand 
of  you  an  explanation  of  your  conduct  in  opposing  the 
petition  for  my  recall." 

"  I  am  here,  sir,  to  vindicate  my  right  to  say  I  shall 
give  you  no  explanation  on  the  subject." 

"  Who  are  you,  sir,  standing  up  there  in  the  dark?" 

"  Charles  Loundes,  at  your  service,  Mr.  McSnout,"  and 
the  fearless  athlete  came  down  to  the  front  step." 

"  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  McSnout,  "  I  think  you  very  un- 
reasonable in  injuring  me,  as  you  have,  and  then  refusing 
me  satisfaction." 


236  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  I  have  done  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Philip.  "I 
hold  myself  responsible  for  all  my  actions." 

"Then, sir,"  said  Goals,  "I  hope  you  are  ready  to  an- 
swer for  your  conduct  on  Tuesday." 

He  was  standing  in  front  of  Loundes,  and,  with  the 
conclusion  of  his  words,  rapidly  drew  a  pistol  which  was 
not  leveled  before  his  quick-sighted  antagonist  had 
stricken. him  senseless  with  a  slung-shot.  McSnout  at- 
tempted to  stab  Philip  with  a  Bowie-knife,  but  a  single 
blow  with  a  stick  was  sufficient  to  quell  him.  The  two 
friends  were  by  this  time  in  readiness  for  the  others,  who 
still  stood  at  the  gate.  As  they  made  no  demonstration 
of  attack.  Philip  called  to  them  to  carry  off  their  disabled 
comrades,  who  were  now  disarmed  and  helpless.  A  loud 
laugh  was  heard  near  the  gate,  and  the  ponderous  form 
of  Dr.  Melton,  the  Professor  of  Natural  Science,  drew 
near.       J^. 

"  Young  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  watching 
these  twTo  bullies  ever  since  they  left  Mr.  White,  and  you 
have  served  them  the  neatest  trick  my  old  eyes  have  seen 
for  many  a  long  day.  You  both  know  my  theory,  that 
in  a  rfundred  men  there  must  be,  of  necessity,  some 
scoundrels.  Xow  to  my  certain  knowledge,  the  two 
biggest  scamps  in  this  institution  are  lying  like  dead 
dogs  at  your  feet." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Philip,  "  v/e  have  done  what  we  believed 
our  duty.    These  men  were  apparently  seeking  our  lives." 

"I  know  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,"  said  Dr. 
Melton.  "  You  did  your  duty  to  the  society,  by  your  op- 
position to  troubling  the  faculty  with  the  petition  in  be- 
half of  McSnout.  I  wish  Mr.  Loundes  you  always  had 
as  good  reason  for  your  other  fights.       Let  us  carry  your 


V 


Philip  at  College.  237 

prisoners  in,  and  see  the  amount  of  damage  inflicted  upon 
them." 

They  found  Goals  much  more  seriously  stunned  than 
his  abettor,  and  cold  water  soon  induced  McSnout  to  open 
his  eyes,  but  to  hide  his  shame  he  assumed  delirium. 

"You  need  not  attempt  that  game,  Mr.  McSnout,"  said 
Dr.  Melton,  "you  cannot  deceive  me.  You  should  be 
ashamed  of  yourself,  to  be  coming  here  without  permis- 
sion of  the  faculty,  and  getting  your  head  broken  in  this 
way." 

The  sullen  and  thoroughly  cowed  bully  waited  until 
patience  and  Dr.  Melton's  skill  recalled  Goals  to  con- 
sciousness, when  they  were  again  addressed  by  the  stern 
old  man  : 

"  I  have  been  watching  you  both  to  night  in  your  brutal 
course,  and  I  am  glad  we  are  now  to  be  rid  of  your  further 
presence;  for  the  absolute  necessity  of  your  banishment 
has  been  long  recognized.  After  your  dismission,  Mr. 
McSnout,  you  have  returned  in  defiance  of  our  wishes, 
and  came  here  with  Mr.  Goals  prepared  to  assassinate  Mr, 
Eustace.  I  now  declare,  if  the  morning  light  finds  either 
of  you  in  two  miles  of  this  village,  I  will  have  you  both 
arrested  and  tried  for  assault  with  the  intent  to  kill." 

"  I  will  go  at  once,"  said  McSnout,  "for  I  should  not 
have  returned  but  for  Goals." 

"  1  will  go  too,"  said  Goals,  "if  you  will  promise  this 
matter  shall  end  here." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  in  that  event,"  said  Dr. 
Melton,  "  if  these  gentlemen,  you  have  attacked,  are 
satisfied." 

Philip  and  Loundes  having  expressed  their  willingness 
to  the  arrangement,  the  crest-fallen  bullies  took  their  de- 


238  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

parture,  followed  by  the  professor,  whose  sleepless  vigi- 
lance would  track  them  in  all  their  actions  and  words,  so 
long  as  they  remained  in  his  neighborhood. 

"  Dr.  Melton,"  said  Loundes,  "  is  the  most  mysterious 
man  I  have  ever  known,  and  is  the  only  member  of  the 
faculty  I  cannot  fathom.  He  is  as  insensible  to  fear  as  if 
possessed  of  absolute  invulnerability,  and  fails  not  to  dis- 
cover everything  occurring  around  him.  It  seems  tome 
absolutely  impossible  to  avoid  his  wonderful  scrutiny. 
He  was  in  the  laboratory  so  much  last  session,  that  he 
bothered  me  in  some  of  my  schemes,  and  late  one  night 
I  attempted  to  frighten  him  awa}^,  by  fixing  a  petard  to 
the  lower  part  of  his  door.  I  was  on  the  outside  watch- 
ing him  when  the  explosion  occurred,  and  he  did  not 
even  arise  from  his  seat,  but  continued  reading.  No  one 
but  my  room-mate  knew  anvthing  of  the  affair,  although 
the  shock  awoke  every  man  in  the  building.  The  next 
week  I  received  a  note  from  the  doctor,  saying  the  trick 
I  had  played  him  had  doubtless  caused  more  damage 
than  I  intended.  He,  therefore,  demanded  twenty  dollars 
for  the  new7  door,  and  the  glass  retorts  and  bottles  broken 
by  the  concussion.  He  concluded  his  note  by  saying,  I 
could  pay  this  amount  or  appear  that  evening  before  the 
faculty  to  answer  for  my  conduct.  As  you  may  suppose, 
I  gladly  paid  it,  and  resolved  to  interfere  writh  him  no 
further." 

"Well,  Loundes,"  said  Philip,  "I  shall  never  forget 
vour  services  on  this  occasion,  so  let  us  both  resolve  that 
we  will  not  disturb  an  old  man  who  can  act  with  so  much 
generosity  and  good  sense.  You  have  fine  abilities,  and 
in  a  few  months  wrill  go  out  into  the  world.  Let  me  be- 
seech you,  my  dear  friend,  to  look  more  gravely  on  this 


Philip  at  College.  239 

great  battle  of  life  which  lies  before  us.  If  you  will  only 
give  up  your  fun  and  frolic,  take  my  word  for  it,  you  can 
be  anything  you  may  desire.  I  expect  to  go  to  Europe 
soon  after  finishing  my  studies  here,  and  I  would  be  much 
pleased  to  have  your  company." 

"  Well,  lo  tell  the  truth,"  said  Loundes,  "  since  I  have 
been  staying  with  you  and  Kean,  I  am  getting  ashamed 
of  wasting  so  much  lime,  and  have  been  astonishing  my 
friends  at  the  amount  of  my  reading,  and  the  moderation 
of  my  drink.  Mother  wishes  me  to  go  to  Europe,  and 
I  will  accompany  you  with  pleasure,  if  nothing  prevent." 

Kean  now  came  in  with  Alfred  Ridgely.  They  told 
Philip  and  Loundes  that  the  story  of  their  fight  had 
already  reached  college,  and  the  students  were  threaten- 
ing to  lynch  McSnout  and  Goals.  In  the  morning  it  was 
ascertained  that  those  worthies  had  disappeared,  and  they 
were  no  more  seen  at  a  place  where  they  had  managed 
to  incur  so  much  disgrace.'  Philip  acquired  reputation 
for  his  coolness  in  the  affair,  and,  under  Loundes'  version 
of  it,  became  such  a  hero  in  the  imagination  of  others 
that  it  was  the  last  unpleasant  incident  of  his  career  at 
the  University.  His  influence  for  good  with  his  new 
friend  constantly  increased,  and  the  gifted  and  fearless 
leader,  under  the  gentle  persuasion  of  friendship,  dis- 
continued habits  which  the  authority  of  the  faculty  was 
powerless  to  restrain.  The  professors  understood  and 
appreciated  this  noble  work,  and  Gov.  Young  warmly 
applauded  the  good  he  was  thus  effecting.  But  the 
sweetest  satisfaction  Philip  received  for  this  interest  he 
took  in  his  friend,  was  a  letter  of  thanks  he  received  Trom 
Mrs.  Loundes,  who  wrote  from  her  home  amid  the  orange 
groves,  telling  him  she  daily  prayed  for  God's  blessing 


240  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

on  his  head,  for  the  change  she  saw  in  her  son's  letters 
and  confessions,  and  which  he  had  told  her  had  been 
wrought  in  him  by  his  high  example  and  brotherly 
counsels. 

The  reports  of  scholarship  and  conduct  had  been  some- 
time before  sent  out,  and  Philip  received  letters  from 
home  expressing  the  utmost  satisfaction  He  had  obtained 
the  highest  honors  of  the  class  in  all  his  studies  ;  and 
President  Young,  in  a  private  letter  to  Judge  Eustace, 
had  expressed  the  warmest  encomiums  upon  his  conduct. 
The  rooms  at  Mr.  Bowles'  became  a  favorite  stopping 
place  with  him,  where  he  frequently  met  Dr.  Johnson, 
who  was  also  fond  of  Philip  and  Kean.  The  learning 
and  conversational  power  of  these  two  men  made  them 
gladly  close  their  books  whenever  honored  by  such  com- 
pany. Thus,  in  that  quiet  repose  of  college  life,  with  no 
interruption  to  mar  the  even  tenor  of  his  way.  went  the 
stalwart  youth  upon  whom  so  many  bright  hopes  were 
resting;  and  in  after  years  many  hearts  beat  with  pride 
and  pleasure,  as  they  recalled  the  pleasant  smile  and 
friendly  words  of  Philip  Eustace.  He  had  no  halfway 
compliance  with  what  he  condemned,  but  gave  his  opin- 
ions without  hesitation  on  all  things  he  thought  wrong 
in  theory  or  practice.  With  this  resolute  dignity  of  char- 
acter, there  was  no  forward  or  officious  intermeddling  in 
matters  which  did  not  concern  him,  for  he  was  generally 
modest  in  expression;  but  when  anything  stirred  his 
indignation,  then  his  eyes  shone,  and  the  voice,  at  other 
times  gentle,  became  a  fit  reflector  of  his  emotion. 

Philip  had  grown  very  much  in  the  last  two  years,  his 
figure  being  large  and  well  proportioned  ;  incipient  beard 
had  commenced  darkening  his  ruddy  cheeks.    It  was  now 


Philip  at  College.  241 

near  vacation  time,  and,  having  obtained  the  consent  of 
his  grandfather,  he  invited  Charles  Loundes  to  accom- 
pany him  home.  He  well  knew  that  his  friend,  living 
so  far  away,  would  remain  in  the  college  buildings,  with 
time  hanging  heavily  upon  him  during  the  next  six 
weeks.  Philip  did  not  wish  his  recent  reformation  to  be 
subjected  to  the  temptation  of  dissipation  so  strong  in 
such  a  season.  The  Christmas  times  at  Ellesmere  were 
more  than  usually  festive  this  year,  and  Reginald  Vane 
made  good  his  promise  about  the  cover  at  Morton's  glade. 
It  troubled  Philip  to  think  of  Rosamond  now  far  away  at 
school,  and  his  greatest  joy,  in  all  this  happy  season,  was 
the  returning  vision  which  he  saw  in  the  eyes  of  his 
beautiful  sister.  Mariana  was  radiant  with  loveliness ; 
but  the  meek  spirit  was  the  same  at  this  hallowed  season 
as  at  other  times.  She  missed  Rosamond's  voice,  and 
some  lines  of  a  poem  Percival  St.  George  had  been  read- 
ing to  her,  haunted  a  mind  that  was  only  conscious  of 
grief  through  sympathy  with  others.  She  thought  of  the 
heiress  of  Thorndale,  and  repeated  to  herself: 

k4  The  time  draws  near  the  birth  i  f  Christ : 
The  moon  is  hid  ;  the  night  is  still ; 
The  Christmas  bells  from  hill  to  bill 
Answer  each  other  in  the  mist. 


"  Again  at  Christmas  did  we  weave 
The  holly  round  the  Christmas  hearth, 
The  silent  snow  possessed  the  earth, 
And  calmly  fell  our  Christinas  eve. 

"  The  yule-log  sparkled  keen  with  frost, 
No  wing  of  wind  the  region  swept, 
But  over  all  things  brooding  slept 
The  quiet  sense  of  something  lost." 

16 


242  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PHILIP   GOES   OUT    INTO    THE    WORLD. 

Yearning  for  the  large  excitement  that  the  coming  years  would  yield  • 
Eager-hearted  as  a  boy  when  first  he  leaves  his  father's  held, 
And  at  night  along  the  dusky  highway  near  and  nearer  drawn, 
Sees  in  heaven  the  light  of  London  flaring  like'  a  dreary  dawn  ; 
And  his  spirit  leaps  within  him  to  be  gone  before  him  then, 
Underneath  the  light  he  looks  at/  in  among  the  throngs  of  men; 
Men,  my  brothers,  men  the  workers,  ever  reaping  something  new : 
That  which  they  ha-ve  done  but  earnest  of  the  things  that  they  shall  do.' ' 

—Locksley  Hall. 

Philip  and  his  classmates  had  now  reached  the  most 
interesting  and  pleasant  period  of  college  life.  They  were 
enjoying  the  liberty  and  ease  of  senior  vacation,  and  in 
less  than  a  month  they  would  be  in  possession  of  their 
diplomas.  The  examinations  had  all  been  passed,  and  no 
doubtful  Rubicon  rolled  its  waves  between  them  and  the 
object  of  their  desire.  No  labor  but  the  preparation  of 
their  speeches  for  Commencement  remained,  and  Philip 
with  his  accustomed  good  fortune  had  secured  the  vale- 
dictory oration  over  his  four  associates  in  the  honor  of 
the  first  distinction.  Alfred  Ridgely  was  to  deliver  the 
salutatory,  and  from  the  number  of  graduates  and  the 
amount  of  preparation  a  grand  time  was  expected. 
Philip,  by  his  frequent  participation  in  discussions,  had 
become  one  of  the  leading  debaters  in  the  society  to 
which  he  belonged,  and  from  his  known  excellence  in 
literary  composition,  high  merit  was  predicted  for  his 
farewell  address.  Alfred  Ridgely  and  Charles  Loundes 
had  been  talking  with  Philip  in  his  room  when  Gov. 
Young  and  Dr.  Johnson  came  in. 


Philij)  goes  out  into  the   World.  243 

"  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  the  Governor,  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing and  reading  on  the  interesting  topic  which  we  were 
discussing  with  Mr.  Kean  the  other  evening,  and  I  find 
the  whole  subject  covered  in  one  of  Lord  Stowell's  last 
admiralty  decisions.  I  have  brought  the  report  of  the 
case  with  me,  and  would  recommend  you  both  to  read  it. 
The  two  brothers,  John  and  William  Scott,  were  remark- 
able men,  and  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  Eldon  was 
greater  in  equity,  or  Stowell  in  international  law." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Governor,"  said  Philip- 
<;  Mr.  Kean  and  I  will  certainly  examine  the  case  to  which 
you  refer." 

"I  wish,"  said  Gov.  Young,  "  that  you  would  not  only 
study  this  case,  but  make  the  noble  study  of  the  law  your 
life-long  employment.  You  will  leave  us  with  as  high 
honor  as  was  ever  won  in  so  short  a  time.  What  course 
in  life  have  you  and  your  excellent  father  mapped  out 
for  your  pursuit?  Do  you  intend  imitating  him  and. 
your  grandfather  in  the  devotion  of  your  time  and  facul- 
ties to  one  of  the  learned  professions,  or  will  you  go  home' 
and  become  the  servant  of  your  slaves  ?  I  feel  much 
interest  in  you,  Philip,  and  I  have  often  regretted,  since  ■ 
I  knew  you,  that  instead  of  humble  competence  you  are 
the  heir  to  so  much  wealth.  Had  you  been  born  and 
reared  with  smaller  expectations,  I  can  scarcely  fix  a 
limit  at  which,  in  my  estimation,  it  would  have  been 
reasonable  to  expect  the  legitimate  expansion  your  powers 
would  have  ceased  :  but  I  fear  that  mere  business  and 
pleasure  will  usurp  faculties  which  ought,  in  the  fact  of 
their  excellence,  to  be  for  the  benefit  of  the  community 
at  large.  How  do  you  intend  spending  your  time  for  the 
next  two  years  ?" 


244  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  I  shall  remain  in  Germany  at  least  that  long,  for  my 
grandfather  is  unwilling  for  me  to  engage  in  business 
until  I  shall  have  reached  my  majority." 

"  Governor,"  said  Dr.  Johnson,  "  I  know  you  are  giving 
the  true  expression  of  an  idea  that  seems  almost  a  part  of 
American  religion,  that  whatever  is  excellent  in  mind 
and  character  should  be  given  to  the  State.  I  concede 
that  the  doctrine  is  eminently  patriotic,  and  so  long  as  it 
prevails  among  our  leading  minds,  and  the  people  have 
the  good  sense  to  employ  prime  ability,  the  condition  of 
the  country  must  be  vastly  better  than  it  would  be  were 
second  rate  men  to  lead  and  control  affairs  :  but  pardon 
me  in  saying  I  think  there  is  a  limit  in  this  devotion  to 
the  public  good.  I  do  not  believe,  where  a  man's  private 
affairs  call  for  his  supervision,  that  the  community  has  a 
right  to  make  him  suffer  for  the  mere  fact  of  his  intellec- 
tual eminence  and  popularity.  Now  it  may  be  in  some 
great  emergency  that  Cincinnattus  becomes,  from  his 
known,  peculiar  fitness,  necessary  to  right  the  laboring- 
ship  of  state;  but  I  think  the  emergency  must  be  im- 
minent, and  Cincinnattus,  by  the  confession  of  all,  more 
suited  to  the  helm  than  any  other  man,  before  the  State 
has  a  right  to  drag  him  from  his  plow  handles  and  do- 
mestic usefulness." 

"  The  direction  of  my  future  life,"  said  Philip,  "  and  the 
nature  of  its  pursuits,  have  been  anxiously  revolved  in 
my  mind  since  my  last  conversation  with  my  grand- 
father. He  then  gave  me  to  understand  that  in  all  hu- 
man probability  I  shall  be  burdened  with  the  manage- 
ment of  an  estate  of  unusual  size;  that  he,  my  father 
.  and  cousin  Percival,  had  determined  to  settle  the  bulk  of 
.  their  estates  upon  me,  and  for  that  reason  desired  me  not 


Philip  goes  out  into  the   World.  245 

to  form  any  professional  schemes  for  the  future.  If  I 
study  a  profession  at  all  it  must  be  as  a  mere  accomplish- 
ment, for  it  will  require  all  my  energy  and  discretion  to 
manage  properly  the  large  and  varied  interests,  including 
a  host  of  slaves.  I  cannot  believe  it  right  in  a  man  who, 
under  the  providence  of  God,  is  vested  with  the  control 
of  negroes,  and  gives  no  care  to  the  manner  and  matter 
of  their  lives.  I  hold  it  a  great  sin  before  God,  and  a 
shame  on  our  civilization,  that  intelligent  masters  so 
often  disregard  their  duty,  and  leave  to  ignorant  agents 
those  who  have  no  appeal  in  case  of  oppression  but  in  the 
watchful  care  of  him  who  has  assumed  the  control  of  their 
existence." 

"  With  such  views,"  said  Gov.  Young,  ''  if  I  believed 
myself  capable  of  public  usefulness,  as  you  must  be  aware 
is  the  case  with  you,  Philip  Eustace,  I  should  sell  to 
others  property  that  thus  kept  me  back  from  a  higher 
career.  It  is  a  shame,  that  one  should  forego  fame  and 
usefulness  as  imperishable  as  the  people  it  benefits,  because 
a  small  community  of  negroes  should  perhaps  be  less 
lazy,  and  consequently  less  happy  by  the  withdrawal  of 
his  immediate  supervision." 

"  Governor,"  said  Philip,  "  you  will  pardon  me  in  say- 
ing that  such  a  course  would  be  chiefly  prompted  b}7  that 
passion  which  deprived  the  fallen  angels  of  their  original 
blessedness.  I  should  feel  myself  a  disturber  of  the  long 
sleep  of  my  ancestors  if  I  could,  to  ambition,  thus  surren- 
der for  my  own  advancement  the  patrimony  which,  in 
the  lapse  of  time,  may  some  day  fall  to  ray  possession. 
I  feel  as  if  those  noble  estates,  upon  which  I  have  lived 
all  my  life,  are  a  part  of  my  being,  and  I  could  no  more 
think  of  turning  my  back  upon  Ellesmere  than  I  could 


246  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

think  of  deserting  my  blind  sister.  Then,  too,  how  can 
I  forget  that  Reuben,  who  stands  at  the  door,  was  ray 
playmate  in  childhood,  or  that  his  father  killed  the  wolf 
which  was  ready  to  destroy  my  life?  Why,  sir,  these 
negroes,  whom  you  would  sell  sooner  than  embarrass 
your  march  to  fame,  seem  to  me  the  noblest  recipients  of. 
my  good  offices,  in  that  they  can  understand  and  appre- 
ciate my  self-denial  in  their  behalf.  I  love  my  horses, 
and  could  scarcely  be  induced  to  part  with  them  for 
money,  but  I  shall  value  my  slaves  infinitely  more  highly 
because,,  like  myself,  they  are  immortal  beings." 

"Philip,"'  said  the  Governor,  "I  honor  you  for  these 
kindly  sentiments  of  your  heart.  Had  I  been  reared  as 
yourself,  I  know  not  but  T  should  have  been  actuated  by 
similar  promptings;  but  in  the  humble  mountain  home 
I  had  none  of  these  feudal  ties  to  bind  me  in  shaping  my 
course  through  life.  My  maxim  is  and  has  been,  that  it 
is  every  man's  duty  to  follow  that  pathway  which  prom- 
ises benefit  to  the  greatest  number.  If  the  peculiar  bias 
of  mind  fits  men  for  special  walks  in  life,  let  them  devote 
that  intelligence,  which  nature  and  experience  give,  a 
certain  direction.  If  a  lawyer  has  a  son,  whose  natural 
endowments  and  tastes  evince  genius  for  art,  let  him  fore- 
go the  bar  and  the  forum,  and  prosecute  his  calling  amid 
the  beautiful  images  of  the  ideal.  If  the  artist's  son,  like 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  exhibit  fitness  for  public  station,  let  him 
turn  from  the  profession  of  his  father,  and  devote  to  the 
State  those  rare  qualities  of  counsel  which  are  the  perfec- 
tion of  human  usefulness." 

"I  shall,  at  all  events,  Governor,  fit  myself  for  the 
practice  of  the  law,  and  then  the  exigencies  of  the  future 
will  determine  what  shall  be   my  course  in  life.     My 


Philip  goes  out  into  the   World.  247 

friend,  Mr.  Kean,  will  commence  the  practice  of  law  at 
•St.  Kilda  next  month.  When  I  return  from  Europe  I 
can  then  definite' y  decide  whether  I  shall  ever  be  his 
partner." 

"  Mr.  Kean,"  said  Gov.  Young,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  you 
will  become  a  citizen  of  our  State,  and  I  predict  for  you 
■eminent  success  in  the  profession  you  have  chosen. 

"  I  am  at  least  safe  from  the  embarrassments  which 
■surround  Philip,"  said  Kean,  "and,  as  the  law  is  prover- 
bially a  jealous  mistress,  we  shall  live  in  the  most  perfect 
harmony,  as  I  intend  to  devote  all  my  energies  to  my 
profession." 

"  Mr.  Loundes,"  said  Gov.  Young,  "  I  hear  you  and  Mr. 
Ridgely  intend  making  farmers  of  yourselves." 

"  That  is  our  present  determination,  sir." 

"  You  are  both  cursed  with  the  same  superfluity  of 
riches  against  which  I  have  been  inveighing  in  the  case 
•of  Mr.  Eustace.  1  expect,  Mr.  Loundes,  you  will  follow 
in  the  wake  of  your  distinguished  relative,  and  become  as 
keen  a  politician  as  your  State  has  produced..  I  know 
your  disposition  too  well  to  think  you  will  rest  contented 
on  a  plantation." 

"  I  like  to  talk  politics,  Governor,"  said  Loundes,  "  and 
you 'know  I  was  once  remarkably  fond  of  good  liquor; 
I  have  sobered  down,  nevertheless,  in  the  company  of 
Eustace  and  Kean,  and  if  I  have  been  able  to  control  ray 
appetite  here,  I  shall  also  be  able  to  resist  the  allurements 
of  office." 

"  Mr.  Ridgely,"  said  Gov.  Young,  "  what  subject  has 
Mr.  Brantley  selected  for  his  oration  at  Commencement  ?" 

■"  I  suppose  his  ill  luck   in  failing  to  secure  either  the 


M8  The  Hein  of  St.  Kitda. 

Valedictory  or  Salutatory  led  to  his  choice  of  '  Unaccred- 
ited Great  Men.' " 

"  A  noble  theme,"  said  the  Governor.  "  That  greatness, 
as  a  general  thing,  will,  like  water,  seek  its  level,  is  most 
true;  but  there  are  many  grand  natures  hidden  by  over- 
ruling circumstances.  Who  would  have  heard  of  the 
eloquence  of  the  blind  preacher  if  Mr.  Wirt  had  not,  by 
chance,  stopped  at  his  church  for  noontide  rest,  and  what 
a  small  figure  Cromwell  would  have  presented  in  history 
had  the  first  Charles  and  Elizabeth  exchanged  the  eras  of 
their  reigns  ?     That, 

"There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men. 
"Which  taken  at  the  flood  leads  on  to  fortune  r" 

is  beyond  all  denial ;  and  while  some  natures  may  seem 
to  control  destiny,  they  are  after  all  much  indebted  to 
opportunity  for  what  they  attain."' 

"Governor,"  said  Kean,  "do  you  suppose  that  Julius 
Caesar  or  Napoleon  could  have,  under  any  circumstances., 
been  restrained  to  the  ordinary  level?" 

"  I  do  not,"  said  the  Governor.  Li  Their  opportunities 
lay  in  their  inordinate  ambition  and  disregard  of  the 
welfare  of  their  countries ;  but  I  am  afraid  if  Mr.  Brant- 
ley were  here  he  would  think  us  forestalling  him  in. his 
discussion  of  his  subject.  Gentlemen,  I  wish  you  good 
evening." 

With  this  the  pleasant  circle  of  friends  separated  for 
the  night.  Philip  had  been  but  little  of  a  beau  in  his 
college  life,  and  now  it  was  so  near  its  termination  he  had 
determined  to  give  the  following  day  to  the  enjoyment  of 
a  pic-nic  in  the  woods.  He  was  engaged  to  accompany 
Lily  Seaton^  who,  in  spite  of  his  loyalty  and  truth  to 


Philip  gone  out  into  the   World.  249 

Rosamond,  filled   his  heart  with   pleasure,  when  at  rare 
intervals  he  ventured  into  her  charming  presence. 

Early  in  the  day  a  gay  throng  of  pleasure  seekers  had 
gathered  in  the  pretty  dell  yet  bearing  the  name  of  a  dis- 
tinguished divine  in  a  neighboring  State.  The  learned 
and  eloquent  bishop,  when  in  the  halcyon  days  of  youth, 
haunting  these  classic  shades,  could  be  frequently  found 
alone  in  the  silence  of  this  retreat.  A  brooklet  poured 
its  sparkling  waters  over  crystal  pebbles,  and  murmured 
between  mossy  banks,  while  the  wide-spreading  limbs  of 
huge  oaks  maintained,  at  noon-tide,  the  softened  gloom 
of  twilight.  The  wild  flowers,  in  their  new  mantles, 
seemed  all  rejoicing  in  the  balmy  air  of  spring,  and  the 
nimble  squirrel  frisked  amid  the  feathery  young  leaves, 
astonished  at  the  invasion  of  his  accustomed  solitude.  A 
rustic  pavilion  had  been  erected  for  the  dancers,  and  a 
negro  band  were  discoursing  loud  if  not  eloquent  music 
to  the  groups  scattered  around  in  the  cool  shade. 
Cornelius  Burnet,  the  aldermanic  leader  of  the  "  musi- 
cianers,"  as  he  called  them,  was  now  in  his  glory.  No 
fear  of  summary  and  disgraceful  flight  from  the  mid- 
night bull-dance,  in  the  south  building,  was  before  his 
eyes.  It  was  Saturday,  and  he  knew  his  persecutors,  the 
faculty,  had  no  authority  in  this  sylvan  retreat,  which 
was  outside  of  the  charmed  two  miles  limiting  their 
jurisdiction. 

The  ball  managers  had  already  received  a  portion  of 
the  dainties  which  had  been  so  profusely  provided  for 
Commencement,  and  Sam.  Morphis  had,  in  the  four-horse 
hack  in  which  he  delighted,  a  demijon  filled  to  its  utmost 
capacity  for  use  on  this  occasion.  Willis  Jenkins,  another 
gentleman  of  color,  with  his  confrere,  Charles  Ligins,  was 


250  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

in  charge  of  the  solids,  and  was  frequently  cautioned 
against  allowing  his  risible  propensities  getting  the  better 
of  him.  This  was  a  great  tax  on  Willis'  enjoyment,  for 
every  student  present  knew  that,  barring  the  presence  of 
the  ladies,  he  was  prepared  to  have  laughed  into  silence 
the  loudest-mouthed  donkey  in  the  land.  David  Moore, 
in  all  his  courtly  politeness,  was  there  too,  while  Chester- 
field Merrit  stood  in  silent  wisdom,  evidently  elaborating 
some  mighty  theme  of  discussion  for  his  next  meeting 
with  Dr.  November.  That  pleasant  day  of  rural  delight 
lingers  still  in  the  memory  of  many* hearts. 

It  was  a  select  party,  in  which  grave  seniors,  who  were 
soon  to  leave  the  place,  were  joined  by  a  few  of  their 
friends  of  the  lower  classes.  Philip  had  escorted  Lily 
Seaton,  and  they  were  seated  near  the  brook.  She  was  as 
fair  as  a  wood  nymph,  in  her  white  dress  and  the  fresh 
spring  flowers  in  her  hair. 

"  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  she,  "  I  am  sorry  you  are  going 
away  so  soon.  I  wish  }tou  had  come  here  two  years 
earlier." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Miss  Lily,"  said  Philip,  "  and  one 
of  my  chief  regrets  on  leaving  college  will  be  that  I  have 
been  so  little  in  your  charming  company." 

"  I  have  been  at  home  all  the  while,  sir,  and  should  have 
been  more  than  glad  to  have  seen  you.  I  suppose  you 
were  reading  hard,  and  thinking  of  that  fair  cousin  of 
yours." 

"  You  refer  to  Rosamond.  How  could  you  have  learned 
anything  about  us?" 

"  I  have  heard  you  were  to  be  married  soon  after  you 
graduate." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  shall  spend  three  years  in  Europe 


Philip  gone  out  into  the    World.  25  L 

and  I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  once  see  Rosamond  in 
that  time." 

"  You  are  a  mystery  to  me,  Mr.  Eustace.  With  all 
your  accomplishments  and  favor  with  the  ladies,  you  only 
visit  them  at  rare  intervals.  Though  you  are  a  paragon 
of  perfection  in  the  eyes  of  the  faculty,  yet  you  are  almost 
worshipped  by  Mr.  Loundes  and  his  wild  associates. 
You  are  fond  of  books,  but  no  one  has  finer  horses,  or 
follows  the  hounds  with  greater  zest  than  yourself.  I  can 
not  understand  you.  I  wish  you  were  a  junior,  and  had 
to  stay  here  another  year,  so  I  could  learn  more  of  what, 
I  must  confess,  is  all   mystery  to  me  now." 

"And  what  would  become  of  me,"  said  Philip,  "sub- 
jected to  the  fascination  of  such  eyes  for  another  year?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Eustace!" 

"  Come,  Philip,"  said  Charles  Loundes,  "  we  are  waiting 
for  you  and  Miss  Lily  to  make  up  our  set." 

Soon  the  dancers  were  threading  the  giddy  mazes  of 
youth's  favorite  and  most  graceful  pastime.  It  was  well 
that  Philip  was  interrupted  in  his  conversation,  for  it 
was  taking  a  turn  inconsistent  with  his  dignity  and  truth 
of  character;  but  much  allowance  must  be  made  for  the 
ardor  and  impulsiveness  of  his  youth.  It  is  difficult  for 
a  young  man  to  be  in  the  presence  of  so  much  beauty  and 
vivacity  and  not  speak  rash  things.  As  well  may  we 
preach  moderation  to  the  confirmed  inebriate,  or  tell 
children  of  the  un healthiness  of  sweet  meats  as  to  expect 
such  a  one,  in  the  warmth  of  his  youth,  not  to  be  moved 
by  the  influence  of  beauty.  Burnet's  large  e}'es  protru- 
ded in  undisguised  admiration  of  the  sylph-like  forms 
floating  in  the  softened  light  of  the  pavillion,  while  his 
sable  assistants  blew  their  brass  horns  with  might  and 


252  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

main.  On  went  the  dancers,  and  long  and  loud  arose 
the  music  in  the  echoing  dell.  Enjoy  thyself,  0  golden- 
visiuned  youth  !  In  the  spring  tide  of  joy  let  no  wrinkled 
care  obtrude  itself  on  thoughtless  revels.  The  world's 
unrest  finds  us  out  soon  enough,  without  our  anticipating 
what  lies  hidden  in  the  undeveloped  future.  What  shall 
be  the  fate  of  these  gay  revellers?  Shall  rosy  children, 
and  the  long  rapture  of  love  wedded  in  happiness,  attend 
these  maidens;  or  shall  hollow  deceit  and  cold  neglect 
mar  their  beauty  ?  Shall  prosperous  usefulness  in  the 
walks  of  peace,  or  the  destroying  angel  of  civil  strife, 
mark  those  manly  forms  for  its  own  ? 

"  Mr.  Kean,"  said  Lily  Seaton,  in  the  pauses  of  the 
dance,  "  do  give  me  a  description  of  Rosamond  Courtenay." 

"I  have  not  seen  her  in  twelve  months,  Miss  Seaton. 
She  was  then  promising  to  be  one  of  those  rare  and  fault- 
less beauties  resulting  from  generations  of  happy  acci- 
dents. She  is  as  full  of  genius  as  of  the  promise  of  love- 
liness, and,  when  I  last  saw  her,  was  in  that  transition 
state  between  a  shy  girl  and  the  superb  woman  I  am 
confident  she  will  soon  become.  Add  to  this,  that  she  is 
the  heiress  of  immense  estates,  and  you  have  some  idea 
of  a  young  girl  who  can  be,  if  she  desire  it,  the  most  bril- 
liant belle  in  America." 

"  I  hear  she  is  to  be  the  bride  of  Mr.  Eustace,"  said 
Lily  with  a  sigh.     "  I  wonder  if  she  loves  him." 

"They  seem  to  be  fond  of  each  other." 

"  Late  in  the  evening  the  party  returned  to  the  village, 
some  happy  in  the  recollection  of  the  day's  pleasures, 
others  heart-sore  from  smiles  denied  and  love  proffered 
in  vain.  Philip  and  Arthur  Kean  were  too  full  of  other 
thoughts  to  be  in  such  predicament;  so  having  finished 


Philip  goes  out  into  the   World.  253 

their  supper,  they  sat  down  to  discuss  a  matter  highly 
interesting  to  both. 

"Philip,"  said  Kean,  "  I  received  a  letter  this  evening 
from  Mr.  Somerville,  your  father's  friend,  proposing  to 
take  me  into  partnership  with  him.  Your  grandfather 
is  the  best  man  in  the  world,  and  I  am  confident  lie  is  in 
soire  w-a.y  the  author  of  this  proposition.  I  am  so  slightly 
acquainted  with  the  distinguished  advocate,  he  would 
have  scarcely  made  me  this  advantageous  offer,  without 
strong  recommendations  from  Judge  Eustace." 

"  You  may  rest  assured,  my  grandfather  would  not 
have  recommended  you,  without  a  conviction  of  your 
ability  to  aid  Mr.  Somerville  in  his  lucrative  transac- 
tions ;  fo  allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  this  piece  of 
good  fortune." 

"It  is  the  very  thing  I  desired  above  all  earthly  bles- 
sings, and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  joyous  it  makes  me  feel. 
I  am  now  certain  of  early  success,  as  I  shall  at  once  come 
into  notice  at  the  bar.  I  shall  write  Mr.  Somerville 
immediately  to  accept  his  proposition  and  assure  him,  if 
industry  and  attention  can  avail,  he  shall  not  repent  of 
his  generous  offer." 

Philip  was  highly  gratified  at  the  prospects  of  his 
friend,  for  the  disparity  of  their  years,  and  his  former 
tutelage,  did  not  prevent  Kean's  treating  him  as  an  asso- 
ciate and  equal  on  all  occasions.  In  the  simple  dignify 
and  moral  strength  of  the  3-outh,  the  tutor  had  long  ago 
seen  intelligence  and  discretion  demanding  no  further 
counsel  from  him.  As  they  sat  conversing  young  Comp- 
ton  came  in,  and  his  wild  manner  and  pallid  face  plainly 
told  that  something  unusual  had  occurred. 


"to 


254  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  Frederick,"  said  Philip,  "  are  you  ill,  or  have  you  seen 
a  ghost?" 

The  young  man  only  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and 
moaned.  The  two  friends  exchanged  glances  of  astonish- 
ment, for  Compton  was  one  of  the  last  they  would  have 
expected  to  exhibit  so  much  feeling. 

"  Have  you  heard  bad  news  from  home?" 

"  No." 

•'Has  Lily  Seaton  discarded  you?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  Well,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

As  Philip  said  this,  Compton  arose  without  speaking  a 
word,  and  went  to  the  windows  which  were  up  and  low- 
ered them  ;  opened  the  door,  looked  out  to  see  that  no 
one  was  near,  and  then  locked  it.  He  exacted  of  them  a 
solemn  pledge,  that  as  long  as  he  should  live,  they  should 
never  divulge  what  he  was  about  to  tell. 

"  I  have,"  said  he,  "  witnessed  a  scene  of  horror  this 
night  I  shall  never  forget.  You  know  that  Drumgoole 
was  with  us  at  the  pic-nic  to-day.  He  was  never  before 
so  full  of  life,  and  was  waiting  on  Nelly  Clayton,  with 
whom  he  was  madly  in  love.  Stapleton  Cowell,  you  know, 
was  discarded  by  her  last  session,  and  they  have  not  been 
good  friends  since.  Cowell  threw  a  nut  shell  at  me  to- 
day in  the  pavilion  ;  it  missed  me  and  fell  on  Miss  Clay- 
ton's dress.  I  noticed  she  flushed  up  and  seemed  angry, 
but  I  had  no  dream  of  anything  serious  growing  out  of 
it,  until  after  dinner,  Cowell  remarked  to  me  that  he  had 
a  difficulty  with  Drumgoole,  and  asked  me  to  be  his 
friend.  I,  not  suspecting  anything  more  than  an  ordinary 
fight,  consented,  and  we  soon  received  a  note  by  the  hand 
of  Drumgoole's  second,  stating   that  as  Cowell  had  de- 


Philip  gone  out  into  the   World.  255 

clined  making  a  written  apology,  be  took  this  opportu- 
nity of  demanding  personal  satisfaction  for  an  insult 
offered  to  a  lady  while  talking  to  him." 

"  Cowell,"  continued  Compton,  "  promptly  accepted  the 
challenge,  and  we  left  the  ground  immediately  for  the 
hill  a  mile  south-west  of  the  University.  Dalton  went  to 
town  and  brought  out  to  us  a  pair  of  duelling  pistols  be- 
longing to  his  principal.  I  proposed  to  him  that  we 
should  settle  the  matter,  as  it  was  too  trivial  to  proceed 
to  blood,  and  he  reported  what  I  said  to  Drumgoole,  who. 
disregarding  the  formalities  used  on  such  occasions,  loudly 
remarked  that  Cowell  knew  there  could  be  no  peace  be- 
tween them  until  he  had  written  an  apology  for  his  con- 
duct. Cowell  said  he  had  no  further  apology  to  make, 
and  demanded  that  we  should  be  as  quick  as  possible. 
We  measured  off  the  distance  and  posted  them.  They 
fired,  and  Drumgoole  fell  mortally  wounded.  He  was 
shot  near  the  heart,  and  was  dying  when  we  reached 
him." 

"  Oh  !  Cowell,"  said  he,  "  why  did  I  have  the  folly  to 
drive  you  into  this  fatal  quarrel  !  My  poor  mother  ! 
what  will  become  of  her,  if  she  ever  knows  how  I  am 
dying?  Give  me  your  hand,  Cowell ;  let  us  be  friends; 
it  was  not  your  fault — not  your  fault." 

He  fell  back,  and  we  thought  he  was  gone  ;  then  he 
raised  his  dead,  and  said  : 

"  Come  nearer,  fellows,  I  can  scarcely  see  you.  Oh  God  ! 
how  hard  it  is  to  die  thus  in  the  spring  of  my  life  and 
hope  !  Put  your  hands  in  mine,  and  promise  me  never 
to  tell  the  secret  of  my  death." 

"  He  was  too  far  gone  to  notice  that  I  did  not  touch 
his  hand,  and  the  next  minute  his  soul  was  in  the  pres- 


256  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

ence  of  his  Maker.  Cowell  begged  me  to  observe  Drurn- 
goole's  request,  for  the  sake  of  himself  and  the  dead.  It 
was  too  horrible  a  secret  to  bear  about  with  me  !  What 
shall  I  do  under  the  circumstances?" 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  body  ?"  asked  Philip. 

"  That  was  the  most  harrowing  task  of  all ;  we  waited 
until  the  poor  fellow  grew  stiff  in  death,  and,  having  dug 
a  grave,  we  placed  him  in  it.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
gentle  expression  of  the  face  of  the  dead,  as  I  looked  at  it 
in  the  deepening  twilight.  It  reminded  me  of  Hood's 
dream  of  Eugene  Aram  : 

*  Nothing  but  lifeless  flesh  and  bone, 

That  cmilrl  not  do  me  ill  ; 
And  yet  I  feared  him  all  the  more, 

For  lying  there  so  still ; 
There  was  a  manhood  in  his  look, 

That  murder  could  not  kill.' 

0 

"  After  covering  him,  we  conveyed  the  superfluous  dirt 
to  a  neighboring  branch  and  restored  the  pile  of  rocks 
we  had  removed  from  their  original  position  to  avoid 
suspicion." 

"  You  have  committed  a  serious  breach  of  the  statute 
law,"  said  Kean,  "which  in  such  cases  condemns,  not  only 
the  man  who  uses  the  deadly  weapon,  but  the  second 
who  aids  and  abets.  However,  men  do  not  regard  the 
slayer  who  kills  his  antagonist  in  fair  combat,  as  guilty 
of  so  high  an  offence,  but  the  law  sees  no  difference  be- 
tween the  duelist  and  the  assassin.  My  advice  to  you, 
Compton,  is  to  say  nothing  more  about  this,  as  your  con- 
fession, if  made  known,  will  implicate  you  in  the  offence 
against  the  law." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  morally  responsible  in  any  way 


Philip  gone  out  into  the  World.  257 

for  the  shedding  of  this  man's  blood?     I  did  all  I  could 
to  prevent  their  proceeding  to  extremities." 

"  I  think  you  and  Dalton  should  have  refused  to  have 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  matter,  after  Drumgoole 
violated  the  rules  by  speaking  in  the  hearing  of  Cowell. 
The  quarrel  rests  in  the  hands  of  the  seconds,  after  the 
affair  has  once  reached  them,  and  the  principals  are  bound 
to  abide  by  their  decisions  in  all  matters  whatever  touch- 
ing the  subject  at  issue.  On  any  other  theory  the  prac- 
tice of  calling  in  friends  to  manage  such  difficulties  is 
worse  than  useless.  Then,  if  a  duel  is  fought  upon  in- 
sufficient grounds,  it  must  be  the  fault  of  the  seconds, 
and  I  think  they  ought  to  be  held  responsible.  You  and 
Dalton  are  too  young  to  be  expected  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  rules  which  govern  personal  difficulties,  and  this 
advice  comes  too  late  now ;  the  deed  is  done,  and  I  do 
not  know  that  you  ought  to  be  blamed  for  a  thing  you 
honestly  desired  to  avert." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Philip?"  said  Compton. 

"  I  sympathize  with   you  in  the  remorse  I  know  you 
feel,  and  think   your  greatest  fault   was   your   want  of 
firmness." 

This  disastrous  affair  socm  resulted  in  the  utter  ruin  of 
Cowell,  for  he  sought  in  hard  drink  surcease  from  his 
haunting  memories.  Young  Compton  also  grew  exces- 
sively dissipated,  and,  though  but  few  suspected  the  cause, 
he  never  forgot  the  dying  look  of  the  victim  he  saw  ex- 
pire in  the  glory  of  his  youth.  Unceasing  restlessness 
and  indefinable  apprehensions  became  his  companions. 
The  freshness  of  youth  fled  from  his  cheeks,  and  he  be- 
came the  embodiment  of  Coleridge's  Ancient  Mariner : 

17 


258  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"Like  one,  that  on  a  lonesome  road 
Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread, 
And  having  once  turned  round  walks  on, 
And  turns  no  more  his  head  ; 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 
Doth  close  behind  him  tread." 

The  occasion  of  the  college  year  was  now  arrived  ;  for 
it  was  Monday  of  commencement  week,  and  visitors  were 
rapidly  assembling  from  all  directions.  Philip  was  mo- 
mentarily expecting  the  arrival  of  his  grandfather  with 
Mrs.  Eustace  and  Mariana.  His  father,  being  Governor 
of  the  State,  was  ex-officio  chairman  of  the  trustees,  and 
would  also  be  present.  Reuben,  who  was  on  the  watch, 
announced  that  the  carriages  from  Ellesmere  had  arrived, 
and  on  Kean's  and  Philip's  reaching  the  hotel,  they  found, 
in  addition  to  those  expected,  Ida  Somervillehad  accom- 
panied the  party.  Mariana's  vision  had  so  much  im- 
proved she  could  plainly  discern  the  outlines  of  her 
brother's  figure,  and  she  seemed  astonished  at  the  height 
he  had  attained.  When  she  saw  him  last  he  was  a  little 
boy.;  she  now  recognized  a  form  whose  proportions  and 
power  were  unmatched  even  in  the  great  throng  of  stu- 
dents and  visitors  surrounding  the  hotel.  She  was  un- 
able to  perceive  the  beauty  and  symmetry  of  his  person, 
for  her  sight  was  as  yet  imperfect ;  yet  she  was  as  happy 
in  this  limited  blessing  as  any  of  the  fair  maidens  who 
-surrounded  her,  in  the  full  possession  of  all  their  faculties. 

Philip  was  astonished  at  the  warmth  of  Judge  Eustace's 
.commendations,  for  his  grandfather  was  one  of  those  rare, 
well-poised  intelligences,  subjecting  feeling  to  the  domin- 
ion of  mind  so  completely  that  his  emotions  were  seldom 
visible  in  his  manner.  Gov.  Eustace  had,  in  the  mean- 
while, arrived,  and  Percival  St.  George  and  Mr.  Grey  were 
the  only  missing  faces  belonging  to  Ellesmere.  They  sent 


Philip  gone  out  into  the   World.  259 

their  warmest  congratulations,  and  wished  Philip  great 
joy  of  his  college  honors ;  but  the  sweetest  reward  amid 
all  this  well-earned  satisfaction  were  the  words  of  his 
father  and  grandfather,  when  they  told  him  in  the  sum- 
mer twilight  how  he  had  fulfilled  all  their  hopes,  and  felt 
at  the  same  time  the  sympathetic  pressure  of  Mariana's 
hand. 

Bell  Ridgely  and  Mae  Glancy,  with  Col.  Ridgely,  were 
also  in  the  village  to  honor  Alfred  in  his  graduation,  and 
many  of  the  most  distinguished  citizens  had  come  to  lend 
additional  lustre  to  the  occasion.  Young  men,  after  years 
of  toil,  were  now  to  go  forth  and  take  their  positions  in 
society.  The  goal,  for  which  they  had  been  laboring  so 
long,  was  attained,  and  with  much  fluttering  at  the  heart, 
as  they  thought  of  their  audience,  did  the  new  bachelors 
of  art  repeat  their  orations  to  themselves. 

After  supper  some  engagement  had  taken  Philip  to  the 
college  buildings,  and  Judge  and  Gov.  Eustace  went  to 
his  rooms,  finding  therein  Gov.  Young  and  Dr.  Johnson. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Gov.  Young  to  them  after  their  salu- 
tations, "  I  have  just  been  speaking  of  the  mysterious 
disappearance  of  a  student  who  has  not  been  seen  or  ac- 
counted for,  for  several  days.  From  what  I  can  learn,  he 
was  interested  in  a  young  lady  who  spends  much  of  her 
time  in  this  village,  and  I  suppose  she  must  have  refused 
his  addresses,  and  he  has  gone  off  in  despair." 

"Have  ycu  written  to  his  friends?"  asked  Judge 
Eustace. 

"Yes;  but  have  received  no  reply." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Gov.  Eustace,  "  to  know  that  the  con- 
dition of  the  University  is  so  excellent ;  the  number  of 
students  is  [unprecedented." 


260  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

u  I  have  never  known  a  more  satisfactory  condition  orf 
the  institution,"  said  Gov.  Young. 

"  Gov.  Young,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "you  have  laid  uae 
under  much  obligation  for  the  interest  you  have  mani- 
fested in  my  grandson." 

"  You  may  thank  Philip,  sir,"  said  Gov.  Young,  "  for 
much  of  that  interest  was  the  result  of  his  own  merits. 
His  modest  and  sensible  deportment  attracted  my  esteem 
in  our  first  interview,  and  our  subsequent  intercourse  has 
increased  that  sentiment  into  admiration  of  his  character, 
I  believe  the  present  satisfactory  condition  of  the  Uni- 
versity, in  the  matter  of  discipline,  is  as  much  the  effect 
of  his  influence  and  example,  as  anything  else  I  can  as- 
sign. While  his  conduct  has  been  faultless,  he  has  by 
some  strange  magnetism  obtained  unbounded  influence 
over  those  students  who  were  previously  disturbers  of  our 
peace.  I  earnestly  wish  he  was  entering,  instead  of  leav- 
ing college ;  for  I  can  hardly  limit  the  benefits  which 
would  accrue  in  four  years  of  his  presence." 

"  You  give  me  much  satisfaction  and  comfort  in  my 
son,"  said  the  father,  "  but  the  credit  of  his  present  excel- 
lence belongs  to  his  grandfather,  who  has  reared  him 
since  his  infancy." 

"  In  the  formation  of  character,"  said  Judge  Eustace, 
"  very  much  depends  on  the  early  direction  imparted  by 
others  to  the  thoughts  and  inclinations  of  the  human 
heart;  but  some  natures  are  so  essentially  corrupt  that 
they  seem  to  resist  every  influence  for  good.  As  Shak- 
gpeare  says  of  virtue  .* 

"  As  it  never  will  be  moved, 
Though  lewdness  court  it  in  a  shape  of  heaven  f 
So  lust,  though  to  a  radiant  angel  linked, 
Will  sate  itself  in  a  celestial  bed, 
And  prey  on  garbage." 


Philip  gone  out  into  the  World.  261 

Philip,  from  his  infancy,  while  he  has  ever  possessed  that 
exuberance  of  spirit  which  is  the  result  of  physical  and 
moral  health,  has  never  exhibited  .a  disposition  to  violate 
those  things  he  had  reason  to  believe  proper  moral  re- 
straints forbade.  In  his  early  education,  my  first  lesson 
was  to  convince  him  of  my  love,  and  then  that  he  should 
look  to  obedience  for  safety.  From  his  natural  intre- 
pidity, it  was  difficult  to  impair  the  trust  in  his  own 
power,  but  accidents  robbed  him  of  this  vain  confidence, 
and  since  then  he  has  implicitly  followed  the  way  I  in- 
dicated." 

The  four  learned  men  sat  in  earnest  discussion  of 
Philip's  future  until  his  return.  Judge  Eustace  was  im- 
movably opposed  to  any  professional  scheme,  in  which 
he  was  joined,  with  moderate  views,  by  Gov.  Eustace. 
Dr.  Johnson  agreed  with  Judge  Eustace  in  all  his  plans 
for  his  grandson.  The  father  seemed  disposed  to  leave  to 
Philip  the  determination  of  a  matter  more  nearly  con- 
cerning himself  than  any  one  else. 

The  literary  address  on  Wednesday  was  made  by  a  gen- 
tleman of  high  respectability,  and  his  words  were  wisely 
conceived  and  beautifully  delivered.  The  time  passed 
rapidly  by  to  the  large  concourse  in  attendance.  In  the 
day  they  partook  of  intellectual  feasts,  and  the  shadows 
of  the  campus  were  stirred  by  the  strains  from  the  band 
hired  for  the  occasion.  At  night  the  moon  filled  the  air 
with  unclouded  splendor, 

"  And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell." 

The  speeches  of  the  graduates,  which  had  been  the 
burden  of  so  much  care,  were  at  last  delivered  ;  and  the 
faces,  hitherto  wreathed  in  smiles,  now  saddened  with  the 


262  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

thought  that  Philip  Eustace,  their  ideal  of  a  high-souled, 
chivalrous  friend,  was  standing  before  them  to  say  his 
parting  words.  They  knew,  from  the  sincerity  of  his  na- 
ture, they  would  hear  the  true  sentiments  of  his  heart, 
and  every  student  gazed  in  respectful  attention  as  he  took 
his  place  on  the  rostrum.  The  gay  maidens,  unapprecia- 
ting  the  manly  sorrow  of  those  who  were  now  about  to 
part  forever,  continued  the  hum  of  conversation.  Not  five 
words  were  spoken,  however,  by  the  solemn  voice  of  the 
valedictorian,  before  every  eye  was  riveted  on  the  noble 
form  in  its  black  academic  gown.  The  speaker's  pale 
brow  surmounted  features  regular  in  their  classic  re- 
pose, as  if  copied  from  some  antique  sculpture.  His 
tall  figure  was  faultless  in  its  symmetry,  yet  the  mas- 
sive shoulders  evinced  strength  almost  realizing  the  truth 
of  mythic  Hercules.  His  tones,  though  full  of  pathos  were 
sonorous  and  distinct,  as  he  recounted  to  his  fellowstudents 
the  blessings  they  enjoyed.  How  God  had  given  them  a 
land  and  ancestry  worthy  of  comparison  with  those  cele- 
brated by  Pericles  in  his  funeral  oration.  They  were  re- 
minded of  the  limited  opportunities  of  the  masses,  and  the 
large  responsibility  of  those  who,  in  the  fact  of  their 
superior  knowledge,  owed  a  greater  degree  of  watchful- 
ness, lest  they  should  mislead  others  whom  nature  had 
caused  to  lean  on  higher  intelligence  for  support  and 
guidance.  Then,  as  superior  intelligence  brings  with  it 
higher  duties  to  the  State,  so  arise  higher  claims  upon 
ourselves. 


"  Self-reverenee,  self-knowledge,  self-control, 
These  three  alone  lead  life  to  sovereign  power.. 
Yet  not  for  power^  (power  of  herself 


Philip  gone  out  into  the  World.  263 

Would  come  uncalled  for,)  but  to  live  by  law, 
Acting  the  law  we  live  by  without  fear; 
And  because  right  is  right,  to  follow  right 
Were  wisdom  in  the  scorn  of  consequence." 

*l  And  now,"  said  he,  "  how  shall  we,  who  are  about  to 
leave  these  chosen  haunts  of  learning,  take  leave  of  you 
the  guides  and  instructors  of  our  youth  !  How  can  we 
find  words  to  express  our  gratitude  for  the  kindness  and 
forbearance  with  which  you  have  met  our  waywardness 
and  folly!  You  have  not  only  been  untiring  in  your 
efforts  to  instruct  the  mind,  but  you  have  watched  by  our 
bedsides  in  sickness,  and  constantly  directed  our  hearts 
to  Him  who  is  the  author  of  our  being  and  the  guide  of 
our  footsteps. 

"  It  is  a  bitter  pang,  my  comrades,  to  feel  that  we  are 
looking  into  each  others  eyes  for  the  last  time.  These 
halls  shall  soon  be  filled  by  other  forms.  New  faces  will 
be  seen  in  yon  familiar  windows,  and  we  shall  have  gone 
hence  forever; 

"'The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new, 
And  God  fulfills  himself  in  many  ways, 
Lest  one  good  custom  should  corrupt  the  world.' 

"  Our  attachments  have  been  those  the  world  knows  but 
little  of,  and  wherever  we  have  bestowed  our  affections, 
no  selfish  motives  have  actuated  us.  Who  of  us  has 
dreamed  of  ulterior  advantage  in  the  matter  of  his  likes 
and  dislikes,  or  fawned  on  his  brother  with  hatred  in  his 
heart  ?  Go  beyond  the  walls  that  encompass  us  here,  and 
you  will  find  that  esteem  is  born  of  promised  help.  Ours 
then  have  been  blessed  days  in  this  respect.  We  have 
lived  here  in  serene  repose,  listening  to  the  world's  con- 
tentions, but  its  sordid  motives  have  not  reached  us.     So 


264  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

nature  has  held  her  course,  unwarped  by  the  practices 
which  self-interest  teaches. 

"  But  these  halcyon  days  have  passed  away  forever 
with  many  of  us.  Shall  we  allow  sordid  meanness  to 
corrupt  our  hearts  and  drag  us  from  the  high  course  we 
have  hitherto  trod  ?  Shall  we  only  love  where  we  shall 
be  benefitted,  and  envy  succeed  to  magnanimous  emula- 
tion ?  I  cannot  believe  you  can  soon  forget  the  noble 
lessons  of  self-denial  and  philanthropy  we  have  been 
taught  here.  I  cannot  believe  you  will  allow  the  world 
at  once  to  taint  you  with  its  selfishness.  I  tell  you,  as 
truly  as  God  rules,  charity  and  brotherly  love  are  in  no 
way  inconsistent  with  worldly  prosperity.  If  by  sordid 
parsimony  some  men  accumulate  largely,  have  you 
learned  political  economy  to  so  little  advantage,  as  to 
dream  for  a  moment  that  any  miser  can  be  rich  ? 

utI  stand  not  here  in  Wisdom's  sacred  stole. 
My  lips  have  not  been  touched  with  holy  fire. 
An  humhler  office  than  a  counsellor 
Of  human  duties,  and  an  humbler  place, 
Would  better  grace  my  knowledge  and  my  years. 
1 1  would  not  seem  presuming.*' 

''  But  our  duty  as  christian  gentlemen  ends  not  with  the 
bestowal  of  our  earthly  goods  upon  our  necessitous  neigh- 
bor. If  God  has  enjoined  upon  us  to  prevent  his  coming 
to  physical  suffering,  how  much  more  imperatively  are 
we,  whose  opportunities  for  mental  culture  have  been 
good,  called  on  to  exert  ourselves  in  behalf  of  truth.  Can 
we  be  justified,  if  we  stand  idly  with  folded  arms  and  see 
others  stumble  blindly  to  perdition  ?  Can  anything  set 
us  free  from  the  obligations  that  bind  us  to  our  fellow 
men  ?     Can  man  become  so  exalted  that  delusion  cannot 


Philip  gone  out  into  the   World.  265 

rea'ch  him?  Can  we  ask  help  of  God,  and  be  too  indif- 
ferent to  counsel  our  neighbor  who  perishes  for  the  want 
of  a  word  in  season  ?  Let  us,  then,  as  we  value  our  future 
usefulness  among  men,  and  happiness  in  the  world  to 
come,  discard  such  selfish  and  fatal  infatuation.  There 
can  be  no  sinless  escape  from  this  duty,  for  a  wisdom 
mightier  than  man's  has  decreed  that  weakness  shall  be 
the  rule  and  strength,  the  exception,  in  the  sum  of  hu- 
man intelligence.  A  brotherhood  in  ill  has  been  be- 
queathed us  by  our  first  parents,  and  it  becomes  us  as 
men  to  assume  each  for  himself  his  share  in  the  general 
burden. 

'"For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God !' 

"  To  you,  my  classmates,  I  would  especially  appeal,  to 
remember  how  much  good  or  evil  may  be  accomplished 
in  each  individual  life.  I  know  that  you  will  agree  with 
me,  that  obedience  to  duty  is  the  only  theory  of  conduct 
consistent  with  self-respect,  and  that  none  other  can  pos- 
sibly fit  us  for  heaven.  As  this  beautiful  life  of  cloistered 
ease  has  at  last  reached  its  conclusion,  so  must  I  find  an 
end  of  my  words.     With  Wordsworth: — 

"  '  Knowing  the  heart  of  man  is  set  to  be 
The  centre  of  this  World,  about  which 
Those  revolutions  of  disturbances 
Still  roll ;  where  all  the  aspects  of  misery 
Predominate;  whose  strong  effects  are  such 
As  he  must  bear,  being  powerless  to  redress ; 
And  that  unless  above  himself  he  can 
Erect  himself,  how  poor  a  thing  is  man !' " 

The  tone  of  deep  and  earnest  feeling  accompanying 
these  parting  words  strongly  moved  the  hearts  of  all  who 


266  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

heard  them,  and  when  the  dense  throng  left  the  chapel 
many  a  bold  spirit  made  fresh  resolution,  that  the  duties 
of  life  should  find  new  energy  in  their  discharge. 

With  the  rising  moon  came  the  joyous  notes  of  music 
from  the  ball-room  now  full  of  the  beauty  and  pride  of 
the  State.  Flashing  diamonds  were  vainly  seeking  to 
rival  the  brightness  of  eyes  more  lustrous  in  their  life 
and  animation.  Graceful  figures  in  their  snowy  drapery 
were  gliding  beneath  the  brilliant  lights  ;  the  managers 
were  busy  in  arranging  new  sets;  and  festive  joy  was 
mantling  on  every  cheek.  It  was  the  last  night  of  com- 
mencement week,  and  no  thought  of  rest  entered  the 
minds  of  those  who  had  resolved  there  should  be 

"No  sleep  till  morn  when  youth  and  pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet." 

"  Philip,"  said  Ida  Somerville,  "  you  were  so  solemn  and 
grand  in  your  valedictory,  I  never  felt  so  useless  and 
sinful  even  in  listening  to  Mr.  Grey's  sermons." 

"  Perhaps  you  thought  me  prosy." 

"  No,  I  was  thinking  what  a  glorious  thing  it  is  to  be  a 
man  and  bear  about  such  a  heart  as  I  know  you  possess. 
You  are  so  full  of  consecration  to  duty,  so  fixed  in  your 
high  resolves,  and  with  such  a  field  for  display  of  useful- 
ness— while  I  am  but  a  woman  circumscribed  and  tram- 
melled on  all  sides.  Oh  !  Philip,  a  woman's  life  is  at  best 
a  series  of  little  pleasures  and  great  pains.  Unsatisfied 
longings  for  love  and  a  brief  episode  of  romance  in 
youth,  are  all  we  have  to  gratify  these  yearnings ;  and 
then  too  often  come  solitude  and  neglect  for  the  remainder 
of  life.      Poor  mistaken  Shelly,  with  all  his  errors  in 


Philip  gone  out  into  the  World.  267 

theology,  was  right  at  heart  in  his  sympathy  for  us  when 
he  wrote  of  man's  injustice: — 

*  Woman !  she  is  his  slave,  she  has  hecome 
A  thing  I  weep  to  speak — a  thing  of  scorn, 
The  outcast  of  a  desolated  home, 
Falsehood,  and  fear,  and  toil,  like  waves  have  worn 
Channels  upon  her  cheeks,  which  smiles  adorn, 
As  calm  decks  the  false  ocean  : — well  ye  know 
What  woman  is,  for  none  of   woman  born 
Can  choose  but  drain  the  bitter  dregs  of  woe, 
Which  ever  from  the  oppress'd  to  the  oppressor  flow.'  " 

"  You  look  at  the  dark  side  of  the  picture,"  said  Philip. 
"  If  woman's  mission  lies  in  a  smaller  compass,  it  still  is 
as  full  of  duty  as  that  of  man,  and  I  think,  where  they 
are  happily  wedded,  the  wife  has  equal  opportunities 
with  her  husband  of  fulfilling  the  requirements  of  her 
station  and  of  enjoying  the  happiness  consequent  thereon. 
As  you  have  summoned  the  beautiful  madness  of  Shelly, 
I  shall  offset  it  by  the  majestic  wisdom  of  Shakspeare. 
He  says : — 

"  '  The  beasts,  the  fishes,  and  the  winged  fowls, 
Are  their  males'  subjects,  and  at  their  controls, 
Men,  more  divine,  the  masters  of  all  these, 
Lords  of  the  wide  world,  and  wild  wat'ry  seas, 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls, 
Of  more  pre-eminence  than  fish  aud  fowls 
Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords  : 
Then  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords.' 

"  But  here  comes  my  friend,  Miss  Lily  Seaton.  I  wish 
you  to  know  her." 

"  Miss  Somerville,"  said  Lily,  after  introduction,  "  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you  St.  Kilda  ladies  here.  We  liked  Mr. 
Ridgely,  and  have  just  seen  enough  of  Mr.  Eustace  in  his 
college  career  to  become  interested  in  him.     Then,  too, 


268  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

his  beautiful  sister,  who  is  leaning  on  her  father's  arm 
has  added  to  my  curiosity  concerning  your  happy  val- 

ley." 

"  It  is  the  home  of  beauty  and  enjoyment,  Miss  Seaton," 
said  Ida,  "  and  no  one  can  give  you  a  better  idea  of  the 
perfection  to  be  found  in  its  limits  than  Mariana  Eustace." 

"  She  is  wonderfully  lovely,"  said  Lily,  as  she  gazed 
across  the  room  at  Mariana.  "  I  should  idolize  such  a 
being  if  I  were  much  with  her." 

"She  is  more  like  the  angels  than  any  being  I  have 
ever  known,"  said  Philip. 

"  Then  she  is  so  fond  of  you,  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  Lily. 
"  You  ought  to  be  very  happy  with  so  many  sources  of 
pleasure.  I  have  never  known  a  person  so  singularly 
blessed.  I  could  not  help  thinking  this  evening,  as  you 
were  speaking,  how  well  you  could  afford  to  feel  thankful 
and  strive  to  do  your  duty,  when  everything  conspires  to 
swell  your  felicity." 

"  I  have  never  repined  at  my  lot,  Miss  Lily,"  said 
Philip,  "  and  trust  I  feel  grateful  for  the  many  blessings 
I  have  enjoyed ;  but  I  cannot  see  how  disaster  could  alter 
the  nature,  if  it  did  the  extent,  of  our  usefulness." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  convey  that  idea,"  said  Miss  Seaton. 
"  You  will  certainly  admit  that  we  are  creatures  of  circum- 
stance, and  happiness  follows  in  the  wake  of  gratification, 
whether  actual  or  prospective.  Notwithstanding  all  that, 
you  have  realized,  you.  are  buoyed  by  one  bright  particu- 
lar hope,  which  I  think  the  most  charming  of  all  incen- 
tives to  duty." 

"  What  can  possibly  be  the  cause  of  Frederick  Conip- 
ton's  being  so  grave?"  said  Ida.  I  have  scarcely  seen 
him  since  we  came,  and  he  looks  like  he  had  lost  his  last 
friend." 


Philip  gone  out  into  the  World.  269 

"  You  must  ask  Miss  Seaton,"  said  Philip,  dexterously 
avoiding  an  unpleasant  question. 

"  How  should  I  know?"  said  Lily.  "  I  have  no  means 
of  information  as  to  Mr.  Compton's  affairs." 

"  Well,  I  knew  that  Fred,  was  smitten,"  said  Philip, 
"  and  I  have  heard  of  many  others  who  have  come  to  grief 
and  long  faces,  in  their  admiration  of  the  fair  maiden 
whom  Compton  loved." 

"  It  is  too  bad,  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  she,  "  to  teaze  me 
about  so  many  of  those  silly  young  men.  I  am  not  re- 
sponsible for  their  folly,  and  of  course  must  get  rid  of 
them  in  some  wa}r." 

Thus  passed  Philip's  last  night  at  the  University.  He 
was  full  of  tender -emotion,  as  he  wandered  about  amid 
the  gay  throng,  and  felt  that  all  the  happy  associations  of 
the  place  he  had  come  to  love  so  well  would  to-morrow 
be  things  of  the  unreturning  past.  The  flowing  music 
still  rolled  in  voluptuous  cadence  to  the  giddy  dancers, 
and  eyes,  which  had  been  so  sparkling  hours  before,  be- 
came soft  in  the  whispered  vows  exchanged.  Pleasure 
muffled  the  already  noiseless  wheels  of  time,  as  hour  by 
hour  slid  away,  and  midnight  deepened  toward  morn. 
Joy  was  yet  unconfined  ;  full  and  rich  poured  the  tide  of 
music ;  brightly  as  ever  gleamed  the  lights  until  even 
this  scene  of  gaiety,  mad  as  it  was,  found  its  conclusion. 
The  white-shouldered  beauties  gathered  up  their  shawls  >} 
the  tired  musicians  left  their  places,  and  over  the  ball 
room,  as  over  all  things  human,  came  a  change.  The 
lights  were  extinguished,  and  the  holy  calm  of  serene, 
unchanging  nature  returned,  as  if  in  derision  of  the  fad- 
ing joys  which  for  a  few  fleeting  hours  had  disturbed  the 
repose  of  silent  night. 


270  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


GRIEF   AT   ELLESMERE. 


'  Alas  !  that  all  we  loved  of  him  should  be, 
But  for  our  grief,  as  if  it  had  not  been, 
And  grief  itself  be  mortal !    Woe  is  me  ! 
Whence  are  we,  and  why  are  we  ?  of  what  scene 
The  actors  or  spectators?    Great  and  mean 
Meet  mass'd  in  death,  who  lends  what  life  must  borrow. 
As  long  as  skies  are  blue,  and  fields  are  green 
Evening  must  usher  night,  night  urge  the  morrow, 
Month  follow  month  with  woe,  and  year  wake  year  to  sorrow.1' 

— Adonavi. 


Philip's  stay  at  the  University  had  become  a  pleasant 
memory  of  the  past.  He  had  nothing  in  his  recollection 
of  the  time  spent  there,  to  bring  with  it  regret  or  self- 
reproach.  His  opportunities  had  been  faithfully  met 
and  appropriated,  and  no  slighted  tasks  remained  as  min- 
isters of  future  trouble.  No  trust  had  received  his  neglect, 
and  amid  his  ancestral  oaks  he  felt  that  he  had  done 
nothing  to  lower  the  reputation  his  family  had  borne  so 
long  in  the  land  of  their  nativity.  These  high  sources 
of  consolation  were  needed  by  him  at  this  juncture,  for 
sorrowful  tidings  awaited  the  return  of  the  family  to 
Ellesmere.  Stanhope  Eustace  had  fallen  in  Mexico.  The 
dauntless  soldier  had  found  a  hero's  death  amid  the 
shattered  columns  of  the  enemy,  in  the  very  moment  of 
victory  :  surrounded  by  dripping  sabres,  as  the  shouts  of 
triumph  arose,  a  cannon-shot  had  torn  him  from  future 
fame  and  his  country's  service. 

This  sad  bereavement  of  course  threw  gloom  over  the 
household.      Judge  Eustace  exerted  himself  to  cheer  the 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  271 

drooping  heart  of  his  wife,  but  the  wound  was  too  fresh 
for  consolation.  She  could  not  erase  from  the  tablets  of 
memory  the  image  of  him  she  had  borne.  It  seemed  to 
her  but  yesterday  that  he  was  at  Ellesmere,  cheering  all 
with  his  gay  and  gallant  presence  ;  looking  forward  with 
confidence  to  the  laurels  to  be  won  in  this  very  war,  and 
now  he  slept  in  a  new  grave,  amid  his  kindred  at  Elles- 
mere. With  many  tears,  in  the  solitude  of  her  own 
chamber,  the  fond  mother  bewailed  the  untimely  death. 
After  the  first  few  days  she  made  but  little  allusion  to 
her  loss ;  but  grief  was  written  indellibly  on  her  brow, 
and  Philip  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  as  he  saw  its  ac- 
customed light  clouded  and  merged  in  constant  gloom. 

Judge  Eustace  sustained  himself,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  in  this  calamity.  He  well  knew  that  the 
nature  of  his  son's  life  exposed  him  to  constant  danger  of 
a  sudden  termination  of  his  career,  and  had  been  thus  pre- 
pared for  the  fatal  tidings.  He  was  a  loving  father,  but 
possessed  much  of  that  iron  firmness  of  character  Addi- 
son has  portrayed  in  Cato's  speech  over  his  dead  son. 
Had  the  ex-chief-justice  lived  in  similar  times  and  been 
actuated  by  a  like  creed,  he,  too,  would  have  exclaimed: — 

"  Thanks  to  the  Gods  !  my  hoy  has  done  his  duty — 
Welcome,  my  son  !    Here  set  him  down,  my  friends, 
Full  in  my  sight,  that  I  may  view  at  leisure 
The  bloody  corpse,  and  count  those  glorious  wounds. 
How  beautiful  is  death,  when  earned  by  virtue  ! 
Who  would  not  be  that  youth? — what  pity  is  it 
That  we  can  die  but  once  to  serve  our  country  !" 

The  general  commanding  that  portion  of  the  army 
with  which  Col.  Eustace  was  operating,  wrote  a  letter  of 
condolence  to  the  afflicted  father,  full  of  the  appreciation 


272  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

of  the  virtues  of  the  lamented  dead.  Stanhope's  long 
service  had  been  unstained  by  any  imputation,  and  his 
fall  carried  sorrow  to  the  hearts  of  all  his  brother  officers. 
He  was  as. efficient  in  counsel  as  daring  in  execution  ; 
and,  had  he  survived  his  last  action,  would  have  become 
a  general. 

In  this  house  of  grief  Philip  found,  in  the  few  months 
remaining  between  the  solemn  present  and  his  departure 
for  Europe,  need  of  all  his  philosophy.  He  had  seen  but 
little  of  his  uncle  Stanhope,  for  the  soldier  had  been  ab- 
sent almost  the  entire  period  since  his  nephew's  earliest 
recollection ;  but  what  he  had  known  of  him  was  so 
pleasant  that  he  had  come  to  look  forward  to  the  recep- 
tion of  his  letters,  and  in  this  way  he  seemed  to  have 
been  a  great  deal  more  with  the  family  at  Ellesmere  than 
his  rare  visits  implied.  There  had  been,  before  the  shadow 
of  death  fell  across  the  threshold,  much  innocent  mirth 
and  enjoyment;  now  the  hearts  of  all  were  unstrung  to 
such  music,  and  they  went  about  their  separate  tasks, 
haunted  by  the  memory  that  one  who  had  always  been 
mentioned  in  their  prayers  would  return  no  more.  This 
was  a  fresh  injury  to  the  old  wound  in  Percival  St. 
George's  heart ;  but  the  nature  which  had  so  long  fed  on 
sorrow  as  its  aliment  seemed  unchanged  by  additional 
grief.  He  had  loved  Stanhope  as  a  brother,  but  what  was 
such  a  loss  to  the  disaster  of  that  death  which  had  dar- 
kened the  world  in  his  youth  ? 

Philip  and  his  grandfather  were  almost  insepara- 
ble in  their  horse-back  inspections  of  the  estates.  The 
large  intelligence,  which  had  been  so  luminious  at  the 
bar  and  in  the  Senate,  had  turned  its  far-seeing  vis- 
ion to  domestic  duties  of  life ;  on  its  greatest  and  most 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  273 

satisfactory  mission,  the  culture  of  the  soil.  The  manage- 
ment of  his  plantations  had  long  engaged  the  attention 
of  Judge  Eustace,  and  the  infinite  improvement  to  which 
enlightened  agriculture  may  be  carried,  had  induced  him 
to  leave  public  station  to  find  a  realization  of  his  life- 
dream  of  contentment  at  home.  In  the  cultivation  of 
fields  now  yellow  with  ripening  wheat  or  green  for 
miles  around  in  the  luxuriance  of  maize,  lay  the  marks 
of  his  improving  presence ;  and  to  the  young  heir  it  was 
of  much  importance  to  know  their  peculiarities.  What 
stiff,  clay  bottoms  needed  fresh  liming  for  future  crops  ; 
what  exhausted  spots  called  for  help  from  the  muck  beds 
and  barnyards;  what  drains  were  to  be  enlarged;  and 
how  the  long  hollows  which  stretched  from  the  river 
needed  continual  work  in  strengthening  the  dykes  pro- 
tecting them  from  freshets. 

It  was  now  more  than  a  year  since  Philip  had  seen 
Rosamond,  as  their  vacations  had  not  occurred  at  the 
same  time.  When  he  was  at  Ellesmere  she  was  in  the 
midst  of  her  studies.  This  was  a  privation  to  them,  but 
they  were  faithful  correspondents ;  and  Philip  found  con- 
stant pleasure  in  observing  the  continual  enlargement  of 
Rosamond's  acquaintance  with  the  forms  and  beauties  of 
cultivated  intelligence.  He  had  observed  a  change  in 
her  demeanor  towards  him  after  the  last  happy  Christ- 
mas they  had  spent  together,  but  he  could  not  account  for 
it  in  any  other  way  than  to  attribute  it  to  the  increasing 
modesty  of  the  maiden,  fast  approaching  the  age  in  which 
the  instincts  and  habits  of  the  school  girl  give  place  to 
the  crowning  perfections  of  womanhood.  He,  too,  was 
no  longer  the  boy  he  had  been  when  they  talked  so  un- 
reservedly before  others  at  Thorndale  of  the  nature  of 
18 


274  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

their  future  relations.  Rosamond  had  ever  regarded 
Philip,  in  her  childhood,  as  the  embodiment  of  that  chiv- 
alric  nature  of  which  she  had  read  so  much  in  the  olden 
chronicles  and  romances.  But  this  homage  of  childhood 
had  been  succeded  by  passionate  love,  born  amid  the  un- 
forgotten  delights  of  that  blissful  yuletide.  The  strange, 
imaginative  girl  became  tender  and  considerate  in  her 
attention  to  the  actual ;  and  her  old  disregard  of  mere 
accomplisments  no  longer  held  her  back  from  the  study 
of  music  and  kindred  graces.  The  powers  of  her  voice 
were  becoming  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  herself;  its 
strength  and  compass  were  only  equaled  by  its  sweetness  J 
and  passages  requiring  exertion  even  from  the  most  ac- 
complished singers,  Rosamond  soon  sang  with  smiling 
ease.  These  things  afforded  her  pleasure,  because  she 
associated  them  with  the  idea  that  they  were  fitting  her 
for  companionship  with  him,  she  supposed  endowed  with 
qualities  of  extraordinary  merit.  He  was  her  Bertram, 
and  she  could  say  with  Helena ; 

M  It  were  all  one 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star, 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me  ; 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere. 
The  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself  : 
The  hind,  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion 
Must  die  for  love." 

These  subjects,  which  had  been  a  theme  of  constant 
allusion  in  their  happy  childhood,  now  became,  with  the 
approach  of  maturity,  too  sacred  to  be  directly  spoken  of, 
although  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  both.  While  Philip 
loved  Rosamond,  of  all  the  girls  he  had  ever  seen,  next 
to  Mariana,  he  was  yet  untouched  by  that  sentiment 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  275 

which  glowed  in  the  heart  and  reflected  itself  in  the  eyes 
of  his  cousin.  Nothing  had  occurred  to  develop  the 
grand  passion  in  him.  The  desire,  so  freely  expressed 
by  all  the  family  since  his  earliest  recollection,  that  he 
and  Rosamond  should  some  day  be  married,  and  her  own 
smiling  acquiescence  in  his  childish  propositions,  had 
deprived  his  wooing  of  those  love-provoking  difficulties 
which  so  much  serve  to  call  up  and  hasten  the  sentiment 
in  ordinary  cases.  There  was,  from  long  habit,  no  doubt 
in  his  mind  that  she  would  in  the  future,  when  they  were 
both  grown  up,  become  his  wife;  so  he  had  but  few  of 
those  romantic  doubts  and  schemes  for  surmounting  ob- 
stacles which  largely  contribute  to  the  composition  of  the 
pleasures  of  that  most  charming  period  of  human  ex- 
istence. 

This  certainty  of  future  joy  did  not  abide  in  the  warm 
heart  of  Rosamond.  She  knew  at  an  early  age  the  dif- 
ference in  the  obligation  to  obedience  between  men  and 
women.  Philip,  as  the  future  heir  of  the  greatest  estate 
in  the  valley,  and  the  headship  of  the  family,  would  be  a 
very  different  personage  from  any  maiden,  whatever 
might  be  the  extent  of  her  inheritance.  Her  education 
had  strengthened  her  original  impression  that  her  duty 
required  of  her  absolute  reliance  on  others  in  such  grave 
matters  as  the  choice  of  a  husband  ;  that  while  obedience 
was  not  only  graceful  in  woman,  but  necessary  to  her 
peace ;  grand  and  unfaltering  self-reliance  must  be  the 
crowning  glory  of  matured  manhood.  No  hand  but  God's 
could  lead  the  strong  man  in  his  search  for  the  right  way. 
She  considered  it  right  that  Philip,  with  ripened  judg- 
ment, should   have  it  entirely  in  his  own   discretion,. 


276  The  Heirs  of  St.  Hilda. 

whether  he  should  sanction  this  family  arrangement  in 
relation  to  their  marriage. 

Her  duty  in  her  own  estimation,  then,  lay  in  submis- 
sion to  the  known  wishes  of  all  who  were  dear  to  her ; 
while  Philip's,  on  the  contrary,  involved  the  question  of 
his  own  happiness  and  the  amount  of  love  he  bore  the 
woman  who  was  to  share  his  destiny.  He  in  virtue  of 
his  manhood,  and  the  very  qualities  which  made  him 
dear  to  her  heart,  must  be,  in  the  very  nature  of  things, 
a  free  agent  in  this  matter  of  such  vital  concern  to  the 
lives  of  both.  Thus  with  her  daily  increasing  store  of 
personal  and  intellectual  charms,  pondered  the  maiden. 
She  heard  from  her  mother  and  Mariana  such  stories  of 
Philip's  increasing  worth  that  she  almost  trembled  at 
the  thought  of  again  meeting  him  in  whose  good  opinion 
•she  was  so  deeply  interested.  Mrs.  Courtenay  had  written 
to  her  at  school,  desiring  her  to  visit  Thorndale  for  a 
short  time  before  Philip's  departure  for  Europe,  and  she 
looked  forward  to  their  meeting  with  mingled  emotions 
•of  joy  and  fear.  Her  mirror  showed  her  a  great  differ- 
ence from  what  she  was  a  jTear  ago,  and  the  fond  admira. 
tion  of  her  associates  often  intimated  that  others 
appreciated  more  highly  than  herself  the  rapid  progress 
she  had  made  toward  that  perfection  of  grace  and  loveli- 
ness she  was  soon  to  attain. 

Philip  entered  with  enthusiasm  into  his  grandfather's 
desire  that  he  should  embrace  the  present  opportunity  of 
acquainting  himself  with  the  nature  and  peculiarities  of 
his  future  duties.  The  Summer  waned  in  this  search  for 
practical  knowledge,  and  golden-breasted  Autumn  came 
with  her  overflowing  barns.  The  wheat  fields  were  once 
again  to  receive  the  seed   for  the  next  harvest,  and  this 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  277 

was  to  be  a  new  era  in  cultivation  to  St.  Kilda  Valley. 
The  "  wizzard  of  the  Pacific  "  had  reached  even  this  se- 
cluded vale.  Liebig's  remarkable  prophesy  of  the  future 
production  of  a  concentrated  fertilizer  which  should  in  a 
small  compass  contain  all  the  stimulating  properties  of 
huge  bulks  of  ordinary  manures,  had  been  realized  in 
Peruvian  guano,  now  for  the  first  time  introduced  into 
the  agriculture  of  this  portion  of  the  country.  Judge 
Eustace  had  procured  a  few  tons  for  experiment  on  his 
lands;  and  early  in  the  morning  he,  with  St.  George  and 
Philip,  repaired  to  the  field  where  it  was  being  scattered. 
It  was  in  that  part  of  the  farm  lying  along  the  turnpike, 
in  front  of  Mr.  Glancy's  house,  and  was  a  portion  of  the 
Grafton  property.  Upon  their  arrival  they  found  Nathan 
Dale  in  superintendence  of  the  work,  for  he  was  overseer 
of  the  plantation,  and  with  him  were  Mr.  Glancy  and 
Roger  Earl  from  Vaucluse. 

"  Mr.  Glancy,"  said  Judge  Eustace, "  Solomon  says,  there 
is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,  but  I  think  this  process 
would  have  created  astonishment  on  the  Judean  hills." 

"  I  have  little  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Glancy,  "  for  it 
amazes  me  to  see  you  applying  that  small  quantity  of 
dust,  as  a  substitute  for  the  heavy  dressings  we  are  in  the 
habit  of  applying  to  our  lands." 

"  "Well,"  said  Nathan  Dale,  "  its  consoling  to  think  there 
'aint  much  work  lost  in  this  'ere  sprinkling  process  we 
are  going  through." 

"  We  are  in  our  infancy  in  such  matters,"  said  Judge 
Eustace.  "  The  study  of  chemistry,  apart  from  the  search 
of  the  old  alchemists  for  the  elixir  of  life  and  the  secret 
of  transmuting  metals,  is  but  a  recent  thing,  and  is,  of 
all  branches  of  science,  more  particularly  the  child  of 


278  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

patient  experiment.  Two  hundred  years  from  to-day 
our  posterity  will  be  in  the  common  possession  of  facts 
and  principles,  the  sudden  production  of  which  among 
ns  now  would  create  more  astonishment  than  a  box  of 
lucifer  matches  among  our  ancestors. " 

"  Judge  Eustace,'*  said  Mr.  Glancy,  "  I  think  our  atten- 
tion to  fertilizers  is  excluding  a  proper  attention  to  good 
drainage.  The  Goldsby  meadows  at  Vaucluse  are  the 
only  lands,  I  know  which  are  up  to  the  mark  in  that 
respect." 

"Ten  years  ago/' said  Percival  St.  George,  "  much  of 
that  land  was  considered  a  hopeless  quagmire,  but  it  is 
now  as  dry  and  productive  as  any  in  the  valley." 

"  My  drains  are  mostly  open,"  said  Judge  Eustace, 
"but  I  think,  with  good  cultivation,  not  a  gallon  of  water 
should  be  suffered  to  pass  over  the  surface  of  the  fields. 
The  soil  should  be  open  enough  to  allow  the  water  that 
falls  to  pass  through  under-drains  to  the  large,  open 
ditches.  In  this  way  there  would  be  no  washing  of  the 
surface,  but  to  carry  out  the  idea  would  involve  heavy 
expenditure." 

"Philip,"  said  Mr.  Glancy,  "I  hear  you  are  going 
abroad." 

"  I  shall  start  soon  after  Christmas." 

"I  wish  you  much  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Glancy,  "  and  as 
many  laurels  as  I  hear  you  won  at  the  university.  I 
fear  Frederick  Compton's  stay  there  was  disastrous,  for 
he  has  become  morose  and  dissipated,  and  I  think  his 
father  acted  wisely  in  acceeding  to  his  request  to  send 
him  to  another  institution." 

Philip  rode  back  to  Ellesmere  with  his  grandfather 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  279 

and  cousin,  and  as  they  left  the  field  Mr.  Glancy  re- 
marked : 

"  There  goes  a  young  man  who  will  be  so  rich  he  will 
be  troubled  with  his  wealth,  and  yet  I  have  never  seen 
any  indication  of  a  wish  in  him  to  avoid  labor  and 
exertion." 

"  Philip  is  a  born  gentleman,"  said  Roger  Earl.  "  When 
he  comes  to  Vaucluse  he  brings  sunshine  with  him,  and 
Mr.  St.  George,  now  that  Col.  Stanhope  is  dead,  seems  to 
care  more  for  him  than  for  anybody  in  the  world." 

"I  should  like  him  better,"  said  Nathan  Dale,  "if  he 
weren't  so  grand  in  the  way  he  carries  himself.  I  have 
been  living  here  on  Grafton  these  ten  years,  but  I  'aint 
seen  any  failings  in  Philip  yet." 

"  So,  you  like  a  man  better  for  having  failings,  do  you  ?" 
said  Earl.  "  I  have  never  considered  such  things  recom- 
mendations ;  if  a  man  does  feel  easier  in  a  grandee's  com- 
pany who,  he  knows,  was  as  drunk  as  a  loon  last  court- 
week. 

"  I  don't  mean,"  said  Nathan  Dale,  "  that  a  man  should 
belittle  himself  in  that  way;  but  I  want  to  see  a  young 
man  be  a  young  man.  Why  I  am  just  as  particular  in 
talking  to  Philip  as  I  am  to  his  grandfather." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Glancy,  "  I  have  known  him  since  his 
childhood,  and  he  is  the  same  now  he  was  when  I  first 
saw  him.  I  honor  his  independence,  and  know  that  his 
manner  is  no  loftier  than  the  accidents  of  his  birth  and 
education  justify." 

There  was  much  talk  of  this  kind  in  relation  to  the 
young  heir  who  was  to  become  so  conspicuous  among 
those  living  in  St.  Kilda  Valley.  His  neighbors  did  not 
fail  to  discuss  his  character  as  they  viewed  it,  and  it  was 


280  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

not  unnatural  that  Nathan  Dale  should  wish  for  some 
exhibition  of  human  weakness  in  one  so  inferior  in  years 
to  himself  who,  nevertheless,  inspired  him  with  a  con- 
sciousness of  superiority  in  other  things.  Dale  was  old 
enough  for  Philip's  father,  and  his  testy  nature  ill-brooked 
in  youth  a  dignity  and  self-respect  he  looked  for  as  a 
matter  of  course  in  Judge  Eustace.  He  had  been  an 
overseer  of  negroes,  and  had  acquired,  by  long  habit  of 
command,  considerable  notion  of  his  own  importance. 
It  was  repulsive  to  his  nature  to  be  brought  in  contact 
with  those  whose  virtue  and  knowledge,  in  spite  of  their 
youth,  exacted  from  him  a  deference  he  was  only  willing 
to  bestow  on  those  of  maturer  years. 

The  improvement  in  Mariana's  eyes  had  continued, 
until  in  her  evening  excursions  with  Philip  she  could 
perceive  the  features  of  the  surrounding  landscape  gradu- 
ally emerging  from  the  gloom  of  her  previous  blindness ; 
and  the  only  disquieting  element  in  her  present  happi- 
ness was  the  reflection  that  he  would  soon  leave  her  for 
foreign  lands.  She  loved  especially  to  visit  the  lake  in 
the  park,  and  to  muse  there  in  the  soft  twilight.  She  was 
comforted  with  the  knowledge  that  her  father's  term  of 
office,  as  governor  of  the  State,  would  soon  expire,  for 
then  she  expected  him  to  come  to  Ellesmereto  live.  The 
loss  of  vision  had  seriously  retarded  her  education,  and 
but  for  the  help  she  received  from  the  eyes  of  others,  in 
reading  aloud  to  her,  her  knowledge  would  have  been 
extremely  limited.  Her  blindness,  however,  interfered 
but  slightly  with  her  musical  attainments  ;  what  she  lost 
in  vision  was  more  than  compensated  in  her  wonderful 
development  of  the  senses  of  hearing  and  touch. 

Philip  still  retained  much  of  his  old  fondness  for  his 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  281 

horses  and  dogs,  and  frequently  followed  the  hounds,  as 
with  wild  clamor  they  drove  their  crafty  prey  over  the 
hilly  slopes.  Tempest  had  repeated  his  triumph  at  the 
St.  Kilda  races,  and  had  also  won  the  sweep-stakes  over 
several  other  courses.  Judge  Eustace  was  unwilling 
that  his  grandson  should  make  up  matches  for  his  horse, 
for  this  or  any  other  species  of  gambling  was  distasteful 
to  him.  He  approved  of  racing,  no  further  than  a  proper 
encouragement  to  those  seeking  to  improve  the  speed  and 
endurance  of  horses,  and  was  warmly  opposed  to  betting 
on  the  result.  The  silver  cups  awarded  to  the  successful 
champion  at  St.  Kilda,  and  the  purses  at  other  points,  he 
regarded  as  allowable  inducements  to  subscription,  and 
had  thus  permitted  Philip  to  send  Tempest  to  several 
distant  fields  where  he  had  reaped  fresh  laurels.  The 
courser  was  now  eight  years  old,  and  was,  therefore,  con- 
sidered an  old  horse  on  the  turf,  consequently  he  had 
been  withdrawn,  and  confined  to  his  paddock  and  stable. 
Arthur  Kean  had  surmised  truly,  when,  on  the  recep- 
tion of  Mr.  Somerville's  letter,  he  told  Philip  it  was  of  his 
opinion  that  Judge  Eustace  had  been  instrumental  in 
getting  him  the  opportunity  of  immediate  employment 
in  his  profession.  The  business  of  his  partner  had  been 
so  long  lucrative  he  had  accumulated  a  handsome  for- 
tune, and  was  now  indisposed  to  continue  the  office  duties 
connected  with  his  practice.  The  commendations  of  the 
ex-chief-justice,  of  the  diligence  and  good  sense  of  Kean, 
induced  Mr.  Somerville  to  make  the  offer  of  association, 
and  the  young  lawyer  at  once  entered  upon  constant  and 
laborious  duty.  He  willingly  assumed  all  the  trouble  of 
drawing  up  conveyances,  contracts,  wills,  etc.,  and  hunt- 
ing up  authorities  on  litigated  cases.      Mr.  Somerville 


282  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

became  speedily  convinced  of  the  future  prominence  of 
his  associate,  and  did  all  in  his  power,  by  timely  advice 
to  him,  and  judicious  praise  to  others,  to  lay  the  founda- 
tion of  a  reputation  destined  to  culminate  in  the  highest 
legal  honors. 

Kean  was  not  possessed  of  great  original  power  in  his 
intellectual  endowments,  and  in  this  respect  was  fortun- 
ately constituted  for  a  practising  lawyer.  While  Lord 
Bacon,  Sir  Thomas  More,  Alexander  Hamilton,  and  a 
few  others,  have  been  profound  jurists,  and,  at  the  same 
time  men  of  grand  natural  proportions;  there  is  some 
truth  in  Junius'  strictures,  when  he  remarks  in  his  letter 
to  Lord  Mansfield,  "  As  a  practical  profession,  the  study 
of  the  law  requires  but  a  moderate  portion  of  abilities. 
The  learning  of  a  pleader  is  usually  upon  a  level  with 
his  integrity.  The  indiscriminate  defense  of  right  and 
wrong  contracts  the  understanding  while  it  corrupts  the 
heart.  Subtlety  is  soon  mistaken  for  wisdom,  and  im- 
punity for  virtue." 

The  young  lawyer  was  too  much  engaged  to  be  much 
with  his  friends  at  Ellesmere,  but  occasional^  spent  a 
day  with  much  pleasure  in  the  circle  so  thoroughly  ap- 
preciating his  sterling  qualities.  They  had  all  collected 
in  the  library,  one  evening,  after  supper.  It  was  early 
winter,  and  the  fire  illuminating  their  countenaces  show- 
ed that  time  had  brought  alleviation  of  their  sorrow. 
The  accustomed  look  of  peace  and  satisfaction  had  re- 
turned to  every  face,  but  that  of  Mrs.  Eustace.  The 
fond  mother's  grief  was  still  fresh  in  her  heart.  Like 
Constance  pining  for  Arthur,  the  tender  memory  kept 
whispering : 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  283 

"Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me; 
There's  nothing  in  this  world  can  make  me  joy : 
Life  is  as  tedious  as  a  twice  told  tale, 
Vexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drowsy  man." 

"  Philip,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  I  almost  envy  you  the  pleas- 
ure and  instruction  I  am  sure  you  will  realize  in  the  next 
three  years  ;  but  beware  of  the  insidious  influence  of  Ger- 
man infidelity,  That  nation  is  in  many  respects  the 
foremost  people  in  the  world  ;  but  a  disbelief  in  every- 
thing which  is  high  and  holy,  seems  to  pervade  the  phil- 
osophy of  the  country,  and  has  reached  the  popular 
heart." 

"The  Germans  of  our  day,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "  have 
but  few  characteristics  in  common  with  those  who  lived 
there  in  Luther's  days.  The  reformers  and  their  enemies 
were  all  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  were  ready  to  die  in 
defence  of  either  their  religion  or  country;  but  in  the 
last  century  the  two  leading  German  minds  have  been  as 
devoid  of  trust  in  God  as  of  enlightened  patriotism. 
Goethe's  leading  characteristic  was  his  skepticism,  and, 
great  as  he  was  as  a  poet,  was  but  little  interested  in  the 
woes  of  his  people.  Frederick  of  Prussia  was  no  better 
than  Voltaire,  whom  he  imitated  in  ethics  and  warred 
himself  into  immortality,  totally  disregarding  his  father's 
assent  to  the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  and  the  tremendous 
woes  he  thus  brought  upon  his  own  kingdom." 

"Grandfather,"  said  Philip,  "I  do  not  think  that  all 
the  Germans  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  so  much  in 
earnest.  If  you  will  recall  the  character  of  Maurice  of 
Saxony,  you  will  recognize  a  man  in  every  respect  as 
selfish  and  destitute  of  patriotism  as  Goethe  himself,  and 
the  want  of  the  nobler   instincts  in  him  is  more  than 


284  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

atoned  for  in  the  genius  and  popularity  of  Schiller.  I 
know  there  is  a  want  of  faith  in  all  classes  of  Germany; 
and  while  I  admire  their  research  and  acumen  in  his- 
torical matters,  I  as  heartily  as  any  one  condemn  their 
tendency  to  skepticism." 

"  The  strangest  feature,"  remarked  Judge  Eustace,  "  is 
witnessed  in  the  centrifugal  aspects  of  their  governmental 
history.  They  have  been  for  ages  the  most  numerous 
race  in  Europe;  but  such  has  been  the  uniform  division 
and  discord  among  them,  they  have  been,  all  the  while, 
inferior  to  the  concentrated  power  of  their  French  neigh- 
bors. All  their  efforts  for  consolidation  have  proved 
abortive;  and  Charles  V.,  himself  as  emperor  only 
enforced  the  shadowy  prerogatives  of  his  position,  by 
means  of  his  matchless  Spanish  infantry.  The  Smald- 
kaldic  League  eventually  triumphed  even  over  him,  and 
the  other  kaisers  were  never  anything  but  magnificent 
pretenders.  How  a  people,  who  would  be  of  such  ma- 
jestic strength  if  united,  should  consent  to  dissipate  its 
power  among  petty  principalities,  is  beyond  my  compre- 
hension." 

"  I  doubt  the  policy  of  combining  small  communities 
into  large  empires,"  said  Philip.  "  There  must  be  con- 
flict of  interest  between  states  sundered  by  long  distances  ; 
how  then  can  uniform  laws  of  revenue  and  commerce 
bear  equally  upon  those  having  no  object  in  common, 
save  that  of  defence  against  foreign  invasion.  Suppose, 
for  instance,  that  an  agricultural  people  are  attached  to 
a  government  whose  legislation  is  chiefly  directed  to  the 
support  of  manufactures  :  can  one  interest  be  fostered 
without  injury  to  the  other?  and  is  it  in  the  nature  of 
man  to  so  discriminate  between  antagonistic  pursuits  as 


Grief  at  EUesmere.  285 

to  weigh  out  in  golden  scales  the  damage  and  benefit 
equally  between  them  ?  We  have  in  the  history  of  the 
small  Hellenic  communities,  when  their  cities  were  au- 
tonomous, a  state  of  prosperity  which  has  probably  never 
been  equaled,  except  perhaps  by  similar  Italian  republics 
previous  to  the  change  of  the  trade  routes  from  the  East. 
The  same  effects  were  repeated  in  Germany  by  the  cities 
constituting  the  Hanseatic  League.  I  do  not  believe, 
trammelled  by  general  systems  of  revenue,  these  small 
communities  could  have  ever  reached  a  tithe  of  the  pros- 
perity which  was  the  consequence  of  their  individual 
wisdom  and  freedom  from  restraint." 

"  That  sounds   very   plausible,"   said    Judge   Eustace, 
"  but  where  is  the  necessity  of  any  conflict  of  interest  be- 
tween communities  owing  a  common  allegiance  to  the 
same  government  ?     Take  your  example  of  a  nation  con- 
stituted as  our  own,  of  two  great  sections:  the  one  devo- 
ted to  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  and  the  other  to  manu- 
factures.    I  can  see  no  necessity  for  undue  depression  or 
exaltation  of  either  interest.     I  grant  you,  if  one  obtain 
the  ascendency  in  legislation,  and  disregards  the  rights 
of  the  other,  oppression  the  most  hateful  and  intolerable 
can  be  visited  upon  the  community  which  is  thus  placed 
at  the  mercy  of  its  competitor.     I  know  this  spirit  has 
actuated  many  governments,  and  is  not  entirely  wanting 
in  our  own  ;  yet  it  is  the  most  abject  statesmanship  which 
can  be  imagined.     Instead  of  there   being   a   necessary 
conflict,  there  should  be  a  lasting  benefit  involved  in  the 
very  diversity  of  pursuits  distinguishing  the  two  sections. 
Political  economists  have  demonstrated  that  division  of 
labor  is  beneficial,  for  one  portion  of  the  nation  produces 
what  the  other  consumes.     Under  a  wTise  and  economical 


286  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kiida. 

administration  of  the  government,  the  only  oppression 
possible  would  be  from  revenue  laws ;  if  for  the  sake  of 
some  interest,  imposts  should  be  laid  on  foreign  goods: 
but  even  in  such  cases  the  injury  is  so  slight,  it  is  scarcely 
perceived  in  our  present  system." 

''That  is  all  true,"  said  Philip,  "but,  grandfather,  un- 
der your  supposition  there  is  mutual  concession  and  com- 
promise of  the  antagonisms  in  interest.  You  presume 
that  great  states  are  necessarily  wise  in  their  avoidance 
of  favoritism  among  the  sections ;  but  you  must  recollect 
that  nothing  is  so  easily  created  and  blindly  maintained, 
as  the  animosities  which  seem  almost  certain  to  rise  be- 
tween communities  defined  by  habits  or  geographical 
position,  and  ruled  by  the  same  government.  How  did 
the  Flemings  and  Spanards  hate  each  other  under  Philip 
II.  or  the  English  and  Scotch  under  James  I?  The 
people  of  England  loathed  the  Dutch  under  William  III, 
as  they  did  the  Hanoverians  under  the  first  and  second 
Georges.  I  think  it  a  poor  reliance  for  the  weaker  to 
trust  the  stronger  party,  if  there  be  any  chance  of  self- 
protection  and  autonomy  possible  to  the  minority." 

"  That  may  be  the  case,  my  son,"  said  Judge  Eustace, 
but  the  important  problem,  we  as  a  nation  are  working 
out,  remains  unsolved.  I  confess  that  these  same  jealous- 
ies and  animosities  of  which  you  speak  are  ill  omens  of 
our  ultimate  success.  They  defy  any  system  of  govern- 
ment, and  when  carried  to  excess  in  a  free  republic  can 
lead  to  but  one  result — the  loss  of  liberty  to  all  parties 
concerned.  Sectional  hatred  and  free  institutions  are 
incompatible  with  each  other,  and  must  sooner  or  later 
result  in  bloodshed.  Such  animosities  are  the  most  sense- 
less infirmities  to  which  large  masses  of  men  are  liable. 


G  rief  at  Ellesmere.  287 

Like  jealousy,  they  subsist  on  imaginary  wrongs,  and 
like  Ot  hello  discover,  too  late,  the  folly  of  their  resent- 
ments. One  community  which  has  seen  but  little  of  the 
other,  and  often  with  many  friends  living  in  the  hated 
section,  yet  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  takes  up  a 
deadly  animosity,  and  is  deaf  to  reason,  until  they  have 
imbrued  their  hands  in  kindred  blood.  Many  govern- 
ments have  been  ruined,  because  a  few  selfish  men  have 
sown  the  seeds  of  future  discord,  expecting  no  direr  result 
than  their  own  elevation  to  office.  All  other  evils  of  free 
government  are  slight  in  comparison  to  those  which  flow 
from  the  machinations  of  demagogues.  They  are  reck- 
less of  what  may  be  the  consequence  of  their  teachings, 
and  with  our  natural  proneness  to  evil  we  are  too  apt  to 
prefer  such  to  better  men.  Such  men  have  not  been  con- 
fined to  great  states ;  in  the  small  Greek  and  Italian  re- 
publics, they  flourished  to  perfection.  Athenian  Cleon  has 
furnished  the  model  for  many  modern  imitators,  and 
Dante  knew  many  such  in  the  Florentine  troubles,  whose 
bad  names  have  been  preserved  in  unenviable  immortal- 
ity in  the  Divine  Comedy." 

"How  then,  uncle,"  said  St.  George,  "can  you,  knowing 
that  mob-rule  is  certain  to  gender  and  tod  often  elevate 
to  office  such  curses  as  these  men,  still  sanction  de- 
mocracy. I  believe  our  American  glorification  of  free 
institutions  is  all  delusion.  We  have  erected  the  sense- 
less masses  into  another  golden  calf,  and  our  public  men 
vie  with  each  other  in  their  worship  of  an  idol,  which,  in 
scriptural  language,  having  eyes  sees  not,  and  ears  hears 
not.  It  nauseates  me  to  hear  stump-speakers  talking  of 
the  voice  of  the  people  being  the  voice  of  God;  I  would 


288  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

much  sooner  expect  to  find  them  registering  the  devil's 
edicts." 

"  What  wisdom  can  there  be  in  looking  for  discre- 
tion among  those  who  have  no  opinions  of  their  own  ? 
and  to  low,  dissolute  natures  for  the  preservation  and  en- 
couragement of  political  virtue?" 

"  Your  remarks,  Percival,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "  grow 
out  of  your  theory  of  government,  which  you  know  ex- 
tends but  little  beyond  affording  protection  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  property  and  the  punishment  of  guilt.  You 
have  always  maintained  that  the  masses  should  be  held 
in  quiet  subjection  to  those  who,  by  reason  of  their 
superior  intelligence  and  virtue  are  better  suited  for 
framing  and  executing  the  laws.  The  true  theory  is,  that 
government  should  be  instituted  for  the  protection  of  the 
helpless  and  weak,  from  the  rapacity  of  the  wise  and 
strong.  Intelligence  and  capital  very  well  take  care  of 
themselves,  and  need  but  few  safeguards  from  the  law, 
but  ignorance,  with  all  the  help  that  can  be  afforded,  will 
suffer  in  the  hands  of  unprincipled  men.  As  the  greater 
portion  of  every  community  thus  stand  in  need  of  pro- 
tection, they  are  made  the  fountain  of  political  power  to 
enable  them  as  much  as  possible  to  counteract  the  schemes 
of  crafty  selfishness.  That  the  people  often  blunder  in 
their  ignorance  is  true,  but  they  gain  wisdom  by  experi- 
ence, and  what  is  found  to  be  bad  policy  to-day  can  be 
changed  to-morrow.  Then,  too,  freedom  of  speech  allows 
any  one  who  has  enough  of  patriotism  and  ability  to  do 
so  to  pull  the  lion's  skin  from  the  shoulders  of  the  dema- 
gogue who  seeks  to  mislead  them." 

"  I  know  that  theory  very  well,"  said   Percival,  "  but 
what  punishment  would  follow  such  an  exposure?     If 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  289 

he  is  not  a  high  civil  officer,  nothing  but  his  own  con- 
science reproves  him  for  his  misdemeanor,  and  the  self- 
reproaches  of  such  a  man  are  but  slight.  If,  like  Warren 
Hastings,  he  fills  a  station  of  importance,  and  is  guilty  of 
such  enormities,  another  Edmund  Burke  may  be  fired 
with  indignation,  and  put  in  process  impeachment,  with 
all  its  pageantry ;  but  you  well  know  how  enormous  the 
crime  must  be  to  produce  such  a  state  of  things.  It  has 
been  two  centuries  since  the  Earl  of  Stafford  suffered  for 
what  his  own  violent  political  enemies  alleged  against 
him,  and  his  was  the  latest  impeachment,  I  now  recollect 
which  ended  capitally.  The  pitiless  and  bloody  man, 
who  had  exhausted  the  catalogue  of  crimes  in  India 
was  never  punished  ;  yet  who,  but  God,  can  say,  that 
Thomas  Wentworth's  motives  were  criminal,  in  his  ad- 
vocacy of  the  Thorough  ?" 

"  If  we  can  trust  to  Stafford's  own  declaration,"  said 
Judge  Eustace,  "  he  had  labored  for  years  to  make  Eng- 
land what  France  then  was  under  Louis  XIV.  The  best 
efforts  of  his  life  were  devoted  to  the  destruction  of  that 
assurance  of  liberty  to  the  subject  which  had  commenced 
at  the  field  of  Runnymede,  and  by  slow  and  continuous 
struggle  on  the  part  of  Parliament  had  assumed  some 
form  and  substance  at  that  day.  If  it  be  treason  to  seek  the 
destruction  of  the  barriers  which  protect  individual  right 
against  the  encroachment  of  the  sovereign,  then  he  was 
a  traitor.  His  talents  made  him  all  the  more  dangerous 
to  popular  liberty,  and  had  he  been  successful  in  his  de- 
signs civilization  would  have  borne  a  very  different  aspect 
from  what  it  does.  Trials  for  political  offences  are  natur- 
ally difficult  and  delicate,  and  should  be  as  seldom  resort- 
ed to  as  is  consistent  with  the  safety  of  the  state.  The 
19 


290  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

modern  roind  justly  revolts  at  the  sequence  of  bloody 
vengeance  upon  the  success  of  a  party,  for,  however  mis- 
taken and  criminal  in  their  view,  the  conduct  of  their 
fallen  opponents — patriotism  and  purity  of  purpose  may, 
after  all,  have  been  the  motives  actuating  their  conduct." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  that  charity  which  covers  a 
multitude  of  sins,  should  be  in  our  hearts  and  soften  our 
judgments  toward  those  in  office.  Without  his  own  de- 
clarations to  guide  us,  a  public  man's  motives  are  often 
only  known  to  himself  and  God,  and  where  our  interests 
are  identical  with  his  it  seems  to  me  unnatural  that  any 
one  should  deliberately  plot  mischief  when  it  is  sure  to 
recoil  upon  himself  and  his  posterity." 

"I  know,"  said  Percival,  "  that  Lord  Bacon  has  said, 
that  in  his  children  a  man  has  given  hostages  to  fortune: 
but  the  thoroughly  selfish  have  small  regard  for  those 
who  are  to  come  after  him.  Imagine  Catiline  or  Benedict 
Arnold  considering  the  interests  of  their  grandchildren  ! 
Why  such  men  are  utterly  indifferent  to  everything  except 
themselves." 

"  Cousin  Percy,"  said  Mariana,  "  do  you  think  it  possi- 
ble for  men  to  become  as  sinful  as  that?  How  can  they 
thus  forget  God  and  their  future  accountability?  I  can- 
not imagine  anything  desirable  in  high  station,  when 
memory  brings  shame  to  the  man  who  has  thus  climbed 
a  ladder  of  crime  to  reach  objects  which  are  only  desir- 
able, after  all,  in  the  increased  pleasure  successful  merit 
imparts. 

"  How  e'er  it  be  it  seems  to  me 
'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood."' 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  291 

"That  is  the  true  philosophy,  after  all,"  said  Judge 
Eustace,  "  for  Shakspeare  makes  Macbeth,  even  while  re- 
flecting upon  his  intended  crime,  acknowledge,  that 

"Vaulting  ambition  which  o'er  leaps  itself," 

is  after  all  insufficient,  for,  as  the  regicide  declared, 

"In  these  cases, 
We  still  have  judgment  here,  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor :    This  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips." 

Often  in  such  discussions  of  the  great  problems  of  hu- 
man life  did  the  circle  at  Ellesmere  spend  their  evenings. 
This  portion  of  the  day  had  long  been  by  Judge  Eustace 
held  sacred  to  conversation  and  pleasure.  It  would  have 
been  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  Philip  and  Mariana  to 
have  known  how  much  of  their  information  on  all  sub- 
jects had  been  obtained  on  such  occasions,  for  they  were 
ever  eager  listeners  to  their  wise  and  affectionate  grand- 
father. 

As  the  time  of  his  departure  drew  near,  Philip  fre- 
quently amused  himself  in  inspections  of  the  stables  and 
kennel.  With  all  his  interest  in  graver  subjects,  his  mind 
yet  recurred  to  the  days  when  these  were  the  most  pleas- 
ant haunts  of  his  boyhood.  One  evening,  after  returning 
from  a  ride  with  his  sister,  he  found  Thompson  at  the 
kennel  gate,  and  remarked: 

"  Uncle  Thompson,  I  am  soon  going  away  again,  and 
shall  be  gone  for  a  long  time ;  so  I  fear  Ringwood  and 
Sweetlips  will  be  too  old  to  lead  the  pack  when  I  return. 
You  must  take  good  care  of  them  in  my  absence,  for  the 
good  they  have  done." 


292  2he  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  Shore  and  sartin  I  will,  Mass  Phil.  Ise  hearn  tell  how 
you'er  gwine  away  agin,  an'  it  hurt  my  feelins,  for  if  you 
blieve  me,  I  was  hopin'  how  you  was  to  stay  here  a  long 
time.     Whar  you  gwine  to  now,  Mass  Phil  ?" 

"  Away  over  the  ocean  to  Europe,  and  I  expect  to  be 
gone  at  least  three  years." 

"  Well,  Mass  Phil,  some  how  I  'aint  never  had  much 
opinion  of  dem  folks  sense  de  way  dey  served  Mass  Percy 
over  dare.  Why  afore  he  went  amongst  dem  he  was  allers 
a  sky-larking  one  way  or  another.  I  never  seed  a  young 
man  fuller  of  life  in  my  born  days,  and  when  he  got  back 
you  wouldn't  er  knowd  him.  You  was  a  leetle  bit  of  a 
boy  den,  but  he  'aint  got  over  it  yit;  for  sometimes  I  looks 
at  him  settin'  upon  his  horse,  an'  he  is  so  solemn  like 
about  de  face,  it  hurts  my  heart  to  see  him.  Nancy  said 
'twas  all  about  a  young  lady;  but  if  you  blieves  me  ef  half 
de  women  in  de  world  was  clean  dead  and  gone  'twould- 
n't  serve  me  so." 

"  Uncle  Thomnson,  vou  have  never  loved  as  he  did." 

"  Maybe  not,  Mass  Phil,  but  I  sets  a  heap  er  store  by 
Nancy,  specially  sense  she's  lef  off  devilin'  me  'bout 
sperits." 

Philip  had  received,  that  day,  a  letter  from  Rosamond. 
She  was  tender  in  her  allusions  to  his  expected  absence 
from  the  country,  and  besought  him  to  allow  her  to  see 
him  once  more  before  he  departed.  There  were  many 
things  she  wished  to  talk  over  with  him,  now  that  more 
than  a  year  had  elapsed  since  they  had  seen  each  other. 
She  had  met  Lily  Seaton,  who  had  known  him  at  the 
University,  and  she  had  manifested  much  interest  in  form- 
ing Rosamond's  acquaintance.  They  had  spoken  much 
of  him,  and  the  heiress  of  Thorndale  was  very  proud  of 
his  college  reputation. 


Grief  at  Ellesmere.  293 

The  happy  days  of  thoughtless  boyhood  had  passed 
away,  and  the  future  lay  before  Philip,  full  of  glowing 
promise. 

The  death  of  Stanhope  Eustace  had  much  increased 
the  prospective  weight  of  responsibility  which  would 
some  day  come  upon  him,  and  with  a  clear  perception  of 
what  would  be  his  duties  under  the  circumstances,  he 
went  on  w7ith  his  work  of  preparation.  Grief  was  under- 
mining the  health  of  his  grandmother,  and  was  reflecting 
itself  upon  the  strongly  sympathetic  nature  of  Mariana. 
The  prospect  of  his  departure,  under  these  circumstances, 
brought  with  it  many  disquieting  suggestions;  but  youth 
is  ever  hopeful;  so  Philip,  placing  his  trust  in  that  unfail- 
ing Providence  which  had  thus  far  cared  for  him,  calmly 
accepted  the  sorrows  of  the  present,  and  with  golden 
hopes  awaited  the  future. 


294  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

TITUS  PAINE — THE  OUTLAW. 

"He  chose  the  Sinner's  way,  the  Scorner's  rnirth; 
Now  feigned  contrition  with  obdurate  tears, 
Then  wore  a  bravery  that  betrayed  his  fears ; 
"With  oaths  and  curses  now  his  Lord  denied. 
And  strangled  guilty  shame  with  desperate  pride; 
While  inly  rack'd,  he  proved  what  culprits  feel, 
When  conscience  breaks  remembrance  on  the  wheel." 

—Abdullah  and  Sabat. 

The  annual  races  near  St.  Kilda  had  passed  with  the 
usual  festivities,  and  Philip  had  looked  on,  as  the  high 
mettled  coursers  out- stripped  the  speed  of  the  winds.  He 
still  found  much  pleasure  in  the  noble  animals,  as  in 
conscious  power  they  spurned  the  dust  from  their  impa- 
tient feet ;  but  it  was  no  longer  the  absorbing  interest  he 
had  felt  two  years  before,  when  Tempest  was  so  all-im- 
portant in  his  estimation.  The  honor  of  his  family  and 
native  valley  had  ceased  to  be  dependant,  in  his  opinion, 
on  the  result  of  horse-races.  With  the  lapse  of  time, 
higher  aspirations  had  come,  and  the  horizon  of  his  hopes 
and  joys  had  immensely  expanded.  No  vague  phantoms 
of  unsatisfied  ambition  supplied  the  place  of  these  buried 
idols  ;  but  with  grave  and  hopeful  consideration  of  the 
future,  he  realized,  thus  standing  on  the  threshold  of 
manhood,  that  comfort  and  usefulness  must  be  found  in 
higher  walks. 

The  glare  and  heat  of  summer  had  given  place  to  the 
chastened  glories  of  autumn,  and  under  the  weird  touches 
of  the  frost,  the  forest,  with  its  unnumbered  shades  of 
green,  was  now  gay  in  a   thousand  varied  tints.    The 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  295 

squirrel  revelled  in  the  boundless  profusion  of  ripened 
nuts,  and  the  balmy  air  and  dreamy  voluptuousness  of 
Indian  Summer  gladdened  the  land.  The  softness  of  the 
atmosphere  and  the  gorgeous  hill-sides  filled  the  heart  of 
Philip  with  delight.  He  thought  of  Rosamond  far  away 
in  the  dreary  brick  walls  of  the  city,  and  longed  for  her 
to  be  with  him,  as  he  surveyed  their  native  hills  thus 
robed  in  the  pomp  of  mysterious  decay. 

Alfred  and  Isabel  Ridgely  were  visiting  the  family  at 
Ellesmere.  Late  that  evening  Judge  Eustace  returned 
from  Grafton  with  the  information  that  Mr.  Grey  had 
been  taken  suddenly  ill.  Philip  at  once  determined  to 
go  and  spend  the  night  with  his  former  instructor,  and 
Ridgely  having  joined  him  in  this  resolution,  they  were 
soon  at  the  house  jointly  occupied  by  Nathan  Dale  and 
the  good  man.  Mr.  Grey  protested  they  were  giving 
themselves  unnecessary  trouble  ;  that  he  would  very  well 
pass  the  night  alone  ;  but  the  hot,  dry  skin  and  unceas- 
ing pain  convinced  Philip  that  the  sufferer,  who  was  but 
feeble  at  best,  was  prostrated  by  a  serious  attack  of  bilious 
fever. 

"  I  am  scarcely  ever  sick,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  that  I  cannot 
trace  my  bodily  distemper  to  some  sorrow  of  the  mind. 
The  death  of  poor  Stanhope,  and  the  prospect  of  your 
own  departure,  Philip,  have  weighed  heavily  on  my 
spirits:  added  to  this,  Isham,  in  whom  I  have  greatly 
confided,  from  the  apparent  christian  sobriety  of  his  be- 
havior, is  implicated  in  hog-stealing  with  a  runaway 
negro,  and  I  have  been  sorely  tried  in  his  apostacy. 
Many  good  men  think  negroes  incorrigible,  and  have  but 
little  faith  in  their  profession  of  religion,  but  I  have  not 
limited  the  divine  grace  in  such  a  way.     I  believe  the 


296  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

promise  is  to  all  men,  and  now  to  find  that  Isham,  who 
was,  in  appearance,  one  of  the  best  of  my  little  flock  here 
is  a  hog-thief,  has  brought  me  much  disappointment  and 
chagrin." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Grey,"  said  Philip,  "  do  not  suffer  your- 
self to  be  distressed  by  this  affair.  Remember  even  one 
of  the  chosen  twelve  fell  into  the  sin  of  denying  his  Lord, 
and  expect  no  more  of  this  recreant  negro.  I  know  how 
you  trusted  Isham, but  there  are  others  who  at  least  have 
not  openly  fallen." 

"  St.  Peter  sinned,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  and  bitterly  repent- 
ed his  fall,  but  Isham  is  sullen  since  the  reception  of 
punishment,  and  seems  utterly  indifferent  to  what  God 
requires.  I  can  see  no  trace  of  penitence  in  his  hard  and 
obdurate  heart." 

This  trouble  was  evidently  uppermost  in  the  good  man's 
thoughts,  but  Philip's  tact  gradually  led  him  to  the  con- 
sideration of  other  subjects,  and  the  three  consumed  much 
of  the  night  in  conversation.  Alfred  Ridgely  retired  to 
an  upper  room,  leaving  his  comrade  to  watch  by  the 
bedside  of  the  sick  man.  Mr.  Grey  had  fallen  asleep,  and 
as  Philip  sat  in  silence,  many  thoughts  of  his  happy 
childhood,  so  largely  associated  with  him  who  lay  moan- 
ing in  his  troubled  slumber,  went  and  came  through  his 
mind. 

The  candle  had  been  so  shaded  in  the  fire-place  that 
but  little  light  was  in  the  room,  when  Philip  was  astonish- 
ed to  hear  the  sound  of  falling  blows.  He  listened  in- 
tently, and  smothered  sobs  of  pain  came  to  his  ear.  This 
was  followed  by  the  sharp  clatter  of  a  horses  feet  approach- 
ing at  a  gallop.  He  went  to  the  outer  door  and  noise- 
lessly opened  it.     The  moonlight  rested   full  upon  the 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  297 

trees  round  the  house7  and  Philip  distinctly  saw  Nathan 
Dale  dismount  and  tie  his  horse  to  a  rack.  He  also 
noticed  a  bright  light  in  the  kitchen,  the  door  of  which 
was  opened  as  the  overseer  approached,  and  a  negro  wo- 
man came  out  weeping. 

"  Miranda,"  said  Dale,  "  what  are  you  crying  about, 
what  did  you  make  a  fire  for  in  the  kitchen  this  time  of 
night?" 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Dale,"  said  the  woman,  "  Titus  Paine  is  here, 
and  has  beaten  me  almost  to  death  to  make  me  cook 
something  for  him  to  eat.  Ke  made  the  fire  and  is  in 
the  house  now." 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  said  Dale,  as  he  stepped  into  the 
kitchen. 

"  Didn't  that  woman  tell  you  who  I  am  ?"  growled  the 
heavy  voice  of  a  gigantic  negro  as  he  arose  from  his  seat. 

"  How  dare  you  come  here,  runaway  and  outlaw  as  you 
are?" 

"  I  comes  when  I  please,  and  I  goes  when  I  please,  I 
does." 

Dale  stooped  to  raise  a  broken  chair  which  lay  on  the 
floor,  when  Titus  Paine,  with  the  spring  of  a  tiger,  leaped 
forward,  and  with  a  blow  from  a  club  he  had  held  behind 
him,  struck  down  the  overseer,  and  kicked  his  body  from 
the  kitchen.  The  hardened  wretch,  without  further  at- 
tention to  the  man  he  had  slain,  deliberately  resumed  his 
seat  to  finish  his  interrupted  meal.  Prudence  should 
have  prompted  Philip,  after  he  had  witnessed  this  scene 
of  violence,  to  have  aroused  Alfred  Ridgely  to  aid  him 
in  the  desperate  resolution  he  then  formed  ;  but  the  brutal 
atrocity  of  the  murder  had  aroused  a  nature  which 
brooked  no  delay  in  its  wrath.     He  grasped  a  stick,  and 


298  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

before  Titus  Paine  was  aware  of  his  presence  on  the 
plantation  he  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  door.  As  the 
ruffian  raised  his  sinister  eyes  he  beheld  a  minister  of 
vengeance,  before  whose  awakened  fury  the  stoutest  heart 
might  well  have  quailed.  Philip  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
and  Titus  saw,  at  a  glance,  the  power  and  activity  of  his 
new  antagonist.  He  perceived  in  the  steady  eyes  that 
regarded  him  a  spirit  before  which  one  less  determined 
might  have  shrunk  with  apprehension.  The  runaway 
exhibited  no  symptoms  of  fear,  but  at  once  sprang  up 
without  a  word  to  meet  his  advancing  foe.  The  heavy 
club  was  again  brandished  aloft,  but  striking  the  joist  of 
the  unceiled  room  fell  with  diminished  force  on  the  stick 
which  had  already  inflicted  a  blow  on  the  negro,  but 
glanced  from  his  thick  skull  as  if  it  had  been  iron. 
Again  the  enraged  Titan  brought  down  the  club,  but  its 
force  was  parried  each  time  by  the  skillful  fencer,  until 
blinded  by  the  strokes  which  fell  so  fast  upon  him,  he 
dropped  his  weapon  and  rushed  in  upon  Philip. 

The  extraordinary  power  of  each  was  now  strained  to 
its  utmost,  but  Philip's  superior  activity  gave  him  the 
advantage,  and  with  a  shock  that  made  the  house  tremble 
the  African  fell  with  his  feet  high  in  the  air.  The  heavy 
club  was  grasped  before  the  negro  could  arise,  and  a  single 
blow  sufficed  to  end  the  combat.  Titus  Paine  lay  in- 
sensible on  the  floor,  as  Mr.  Grey  and  Alfred  Ridgely 
made  their  appearance.  The  unconscious  ruffian  was 
tied,  and  on  bringing  into  the  light  the  body  of  Dale  it 
wTas  found  that  life  was  utterly  extinct,  for  the  blow  on 
his  skull  had  crushed  it.  Several  of  the  negro  men,  in 
the  meanwhile,  had  collected  before  the  door,  attracted 
by  the  outcry  of  Miranda  at  the  commencement  of  hos- 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  299 

tilities  between  Philip  and  the  runaway.  One  of  them 
came  in,  and  looking  in  Titus'  face,  remarked  : 

"  Mass  Phil,  dat  nigger  aint  no  more  out  of  his  senses 
dan  I  is." 

"  It  makes  but  little  difference,"  said  Philip,  "  whether 
he  talks  or  not." 

"Mass  Phil,"  said  the  foreman,  "I  didn't  b'lieve  the 
man  was  living  calcerlated  to  throw  Titus  Paine,  but  I 
seed  you  when  you  tuck  de  fiyin  mare  on  him,  and  bless 
to  heaven  he  nately  shuck  de  yeth." 

"  Philip,"  said  Ridgely,  "  did  you  grapple  with  that 
huge  man-mountain  on  the  floor?" 

"  Yes,  he  ran  in  upon  me,  in  spite  of  the  beating  I  gave 
him  with  the  heavy  stick  you  see  lying  there.  Poor  Dale 
died  under  the  first  blow." 

"Iheerd  Titus  Paine  say,  day  fore  yistiddy,  he  were 
gwine  to  kill  Mr.  Dale,"  said  one  of  the  negroes. 

Mr.  Grey  was  too  ill  to  remain  up  longer,  but  the  two 
young  men  watched  over  the  dead  body  and  the  prisoner 
the  remainder  of  the  night.  At  day-dawn  Titus,  evident- 
ly in  his  senses,  but  obstinately  silent,  was  conveyed  to 
St.  Kilda  jail.  The  fact  of  his  commitment,  and  the 
brutal  murder  he  had  just  perpetrated,  became  known, 
and  a  concourse  of  citizens,  already  acquainted  with  his 
infamous  character,  demanded  the  keys  of  the  jailor,  that 
they  might  proceed  to  summary  punishment,  but  speeches 
by  Judge  Eustace,  and  Mr.  Somerville,  induced  them  to 
leave  him  to  the  law  he  had  so  often  violated.  It  lacked 
but  a  short  time  to  the  occurrence  of  the  fall  term  of  the 
superior  court,  and  he  could  then  have  his  trial.  There 
was  scarcely  a  man  in  the  valley  who  had  not  suffered  by 
the  depredations  of  the  culprit  who  lay  heavily  ironed  in 


300  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

prison,  and  such  was  the  determination  that  he  should 
not  escape  justice,  the  men  of  the  town  and  the  surround- 
ing country  kept  guard  around  the  jail  for  fear  he  might 
possibly  break  out,  as  he  had  done  on  previous  accasions. 

Titus  Paine  had  for  some  time  been  looked  upon  as  the 
nuisance  and  terror  of  St.  Kilda  Valley.  In  some  in- 
stances, after  forcibly  entering  houses,  he  had  unmerci- 
fully beaten  the  owners  who  resented  his  intrusion.  He 
was  never  known  to  labor,  but  carried  such  of  the  animals 
as  he  needed  for  his  subsistence  to  his  den.  Frequent 
attempts  were  made  to  arrest  him,  but  he  had  contrived 
hitherto  to  elude  every  scheme  for  his  capture.  No  man 
felt  safe  when  he  had  reason  to  believe  that  Titus  was  in 
his  neighborhood,  for  if  he  failed  to  get  vengeance  on  the 
person  of  him  he  regarded  as  his  enemy,  he  was  apt  to 
take  satisfaction  on  the  live  stock  and  barns  b}^  burning 
the  one  and  killing  the  other.  The  community  was 
highly  gratified,  when  it  was  understood  that  this  desper- 
ate outlaw  had  been  arrested  in  the  midst  of  his  crimes. 
His  great  stature  and  unusual  strength  were  well  known 
in  the  country,  and  it  was  thought  a  matter  of  impossi- 
bility for  any  one  man  to  cope  with  him  successfully, 
unaided  bv  fire  arms. 

The  community  were  astonished  that  Philip,  unarmed 
and  by  his  own  physical  strength,  had  encountered  and 
overcome  this  son  of  Anak,  and  the  popular  admiration 
of  his  spirit  and  power  rose  to  frenzy.  Nothing  sooner 
rivets  the  attention  of  the  masses  than  the  union  of 
dauntless  courage  and  great  bodily  vigor.  This  is  the 
secret  of  Richard  of  the  lion-heart's  fame,  and  beyond 
these  cpualifications  there  is  nothing  in  the  character  of 
Sampson   to    justify   the    admiration  of    men,   and    so 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  301 

captivated  even  the  grand  genius  of  Milton  that  it  led  to 
the  composition  of  his  Agonistes,  Stanhope  Eustace  had 
been  correct  in  his  estimate  of  Philip's  disposition.  He 
was  as  insensible  to  fear  as  any  one  having  the  same  mo- 
tives to  desire  a  continuance  of  life.  Unhappiness  and 
despair  often  create  heroes  of  very  common-place  charac- 
ters, and  men  have  astonished  armies  with  the  splendor 
of  their  daring  whose  disappointment  and  troubles  had 
made  them  weary  of  life.  Philip  had  much  to  hope  for 
from  the  future,  but  this  weighed  nothing  in  the  balance 
when  his  controlling  sense  of  duty  led  in  a  different 
direction.  He  had  periled  his  life  in  the  conflict  with 
Titus,  because  he  believed  it  incumbent  upon  every  good 
citizen  to  arrest  the  perpetrators  of  high  crime.  The  de- 
liberate slaughter  of  Nathan  Dale  had  excited  his  indig- 
nation and  hatred  of  oppression,  for  the  overseer  had  fal- 
len in  the  conscientious  discharge  of  his  duty. 

On  the  evening  succeeding  the  murder  of  Nathan  Dale 
all  the  family  at  Ellesmere  were  collected,  for  Mr.  Grey 
had  been  brought  from  Grafton  in  a  carriage  and  was 
now  able  to  sit  up. 

"  Judge  Eustace,"  said  Alfred  Ridgely,  "  I  hear  that 
Titus  Paine  has  long  borne  an  infamous  character.  Do 
you  know  much  of  his  previous  history  ?" 

"  Titus  Paine,"  said  the  Judge,  "  first  came  to  my  notice 
when  I  was  a  member  of  the  supreme  court.  He  had 
been  convicted  of  murder  in  the  court  below,  and  his 
counsel  had  brought  the  case,  by  appeal,  before  us.  The 
case  was  one  of  intense  interest,  from  the  direct  conflict 
between  the  facts  deposed  to,  and  the  prisoner's  confes- 
sions ;  and  in  this  way  my  attention  was  strongly  drawn 
to  the  accused.     I  learned  that  Titus  had  been  owned  by 


302  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

a  man  living  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  State,  and  hired 
to  another  who  was  getting  shingles  in  that  section  of 
the  country.  This  is  a  business  much  followed  in  that 
portion  of  the  State,  and  in  the  same  swamp  in  which 
Titus  was  working,  a  man  named  Cullens,  assisted  by  his 
son,  found  his  livelihood  in  a  similar  occupation.  Amos 
Cullens,  being  subject  to  epileptic  convulsions,  was,  at 
best,  very  feeble  in  body  and  mind,  and  was  at  times  sub- 
ject to  fits  of  melancholy.  One  Saturday  afternoon  he 
told  his  son,  Richard,  to  leave  his  drawing  knife  with 
which  he  was  at  work  and  go  home  to  his  mother,  as  she 
would  need  his  services  in  procuring  firewood.  They 
had  no  servants,  and  such  labor  fell  to  the  share  of  the 
oldest  son.  Richard  obeyed  his  father's  injunction,  and 
left  him  alone  in  the  swamp." 

"  As  night  came  on,"  continued  Judge  Eustace,  "Mrs. 
Cullens  became  uneasy  for  her  husband's  safety ;  but  as 
it  was  two  miles  to  the  place  where  he  had  been  left  at 
work  by  Richard,  she  forbore  sending  her  son,  who  was 
of  tender  years,  to  look  for  him,  for  fear  he  might  come 
to  harm.  She  spent  the  night  much  troubled  in  mind, 
and  as  soon  as  it  was  light  on  Sunday  morning  Richard 
set  out  in  search  of  his  father.  He  went  to  the  point 
where  Cullens  had  been  left  at  work,  and  found  the  tools 
with  which  their  handicraft  was  prosecuted  hidden  where 
they  were  accustomed  to  be  concealed.  At  a  small  dis- 
tance from  them,  the  coat  which  the  unfortunate  man 
had  worn  the  day  before,  was  found  lying  on  a  fallen  tree, 
and  near  by  the  boy  discovered  the  dead  body  of  his 
father  suspended  by  the  neck  to  a  tree.  Horror-stricken 
the  son  returned  to  his  mother  and  informed  her  of  the 
calamity  which  had  thus  deprived  her  family  of  its  head 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  303 

and  principal  support.  The  coroner  of  the  county  was  at 
once  made  acquainted  with  these  facts,  and  he  summoned 
a  jury  of  inquest  to  determine,  if  possible,  in  what  man- 
ner the  deceased  had  come  to  his  death." 

"  Upon  examination  of  the  ground  about  the  spot  there 
was  no  trace  of  a  struggle,  as  would  have  been  the  case 
had  some  other  man  been  the  author  of  the  hanging. 
The  body,  when  taken  down  and  examined,  exhibited  no 
sign  of  violence,  and  the  clothes  Cullens  wore  were  not 
torn  or  injurned.  His  suspenders  were  used  as  the  cord 
producing  death.  The  tree  upon  which  he  was  hanging- 
was  just  rigid  enough  to  lift  his  feet  clear  of  the  ground, 
and  upon  his  arms  and  legs  were  found  small  pieces  of 
moss  corresponding  to  that  on  the  tree,  while  on  the 
maple  itself  a  portion  of  the  parasites  had  been  rubbed 
off.  The  jury  were  further  put  in  possession  of  the  facts 
in  Richard's  knowledge,  and  I  think  were  warranted  by 
the  testimony  in  finding,  as  they  did,  that  the  deceased 
had  come  to  his  death  by  his  own  hands." 

"  A  few  days  after  the  jury  of  inquest  had  reached  this 
conclusion,  Titus  Paine  went  by  the  house  of  Mrs.  Cul- 
lens, and  asked  permission  of  her  to  drink  at  the  well. 
She  deposed,  in  her  testimony,  that  she  had  consented  to 
his  request,  and  that  after  slaking  his  thirst,  he  told  her 
he  had  heard  of  her  husband's  death  and  the  verdict  of 
the  coroner's  jury.  He  further  said,  though  they  might 
think  Mr.  Cullens  had  killed  himself,  he,  Titus,  had  good 
reason  to  believe  that  some  enemy  had  inflicted  this  in- 
jury upon  her.  Mrs.  Cullens  said,  she  thought  no  more 
of  this  declaration  of  the  negro,  considering  it  idle  talk, 
and  not  believing  for  an  instant  that  he  really  knew  any- 


304  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

thing  of  the  matter  beyond  the  facts  already  in  common 
possession. 

"  Several  years  after  this,"  continued  Judge  Eustace, 
*'  the  man  with  whom  Titus  was  then  at  work,  declared, 
that  late  one  night  he  was  awakened  b}r  a  conversation 
carried  on  in  a  low  tone  between  Paine  and  another  negro 
man  who  was  spending  the  night  under  the  same  shed 
with  himself  in  the  swamp.  He  swore  that  he  dis- 
tinctly heard  Titus  ask  his  comrade  if  he  recollected 
Amos  Cullens,  and  upon  his  answering  in  the  affirmative, 
Titus  remarked,  '  The  white  folks  thought  he  killed  him- 
self ;  but  don't  you  believe  it,  for  I  hung  that  man  my- 
self.' Some  years  after  this,  the  accused  went  to  a  neigh- 
boring county  where  his  master  lived,  and  while  there 
declared  to  the  negroes  the  same  thing.  By  some  means 
these  facts  reached  the  ears  of  the  grand  jury  of  the  county 
in  which  Cullens  had  died,  and  thus  Titus  Paine  became 
indicted  for  a  murder  alleged  to  have  been  committed 
years  before.  When  the  sheriff  arrested  him,  he  inquired 
of  his  prisoner  if  he  knew  any  cause  why  he  should  be 
taken  into  custody  ;  and  Titus  supposed  it  was  to  satisfy 
some  execution  against  his  owner  who  was  embarrassed 
by  pecuniary  difficulties.  Upon  being  assured  that  he 
was  mistaken,  he  seemed  reflecting  for  an  instant,  and 
remarked,  '  I  expect  it  is  about  that  old  Cullens  matter.' 

"  To  prove  that  the  physical  strength  of  Titus  Paine 
would  have  enabled  him  to  have  hanged  Amos  Cullens 
without  much  exertion,  it  was  shown  by  the  prosecution 
that  for  some  grave  misdemeanor  his  first  owner  had,  on 
one  occasion,  determined  to  send  him  out  of  the  State,  to 
be  sold  in  the  city  of  New  Orleans.  In  carrying  out  this 
object  he  was  taken  in  chains  to  the  nearest  sea-port,  and 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  305 

placed  on  a  vessel  which  was  about  to  sail  for  his  point 
of  destination.  Early  in  the  voyage  this  vessel  was 
wrecked  on  the  coast,  and  lay  beached  upon  the  barrier 
of  sand  which  there  separates  the  ocean  and  sound  waters. 
For  safe-keeping,  after  the  vessel  was  stranded,  the  cap- 
tain chained  Titus  by  one  of  his  legs  to  the  anchor  of  his 
bark,  and  went  off  with  some  wreckers  to  spend  the  night 
at  their  house.  Titus  was  so  fastened  to  the  large  mass 
of  iron,  he  could  not  escape  without  sundering  the  chains 
by  which  he  was  confined.  None  of  the  crew  having  re- 
mained by  the  wreck,  they  discovered,  the  next  morning, 
that  the  negro  and  anchor  had  both  disappeared.  Titus 
was  traced  across  the  banks  to  a  house  a  mile  off,  to 
which  point,  by  his  unaided  strength,  like  another  Sam- 
son, he  had  borne  a  burden  supposed  to  be  impossible  to 
human  strength.  Having  found  an  axe  there,  he  escaped 
from  his  massive  clog,  and  his  master  having  relented 
allowed  him  to  resume  his  business  of  getting  shingles." 

"  It  was  further  shown  that  his  unaided  strength  was 
sufficient  to  lift  a  hogshead  of  molasses  into  a  dray,  and 
it  was  a  common  feat  with  him  to  take  hold  of  the  two 
ends  of  a  full  barrel  of  whisky  and,  raising  it  up,  to  drink 
from  the  bung.  This  testimony  was  thought  sufficient 
in  the  first  trial  in  the  court  below  to  justify  the  jury  in 
finding  him  guilty  of  the  murder  of  Amos  Cullens.  Ex- 
ception was  taken  to  the  ruling  on  some  points  of  the 
presiding  judge,  and  we  of  the  supreme  court,  having 
granted  a  new  trial,  he  was  soon  after  acquitted." 

"  What !"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  acquit  such  a  monster  of 
iniquity  after  his  repeated  confessions  that  he  had  wan- 
tonly slain  the  man  Cullens  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Judge  Eustace,  "the  last  jury  acquitted 
20 


306  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

mainly  on  the  ground  that  there  was  no  assignable  reason 
for  Titus'  commission  of  the  alleged  felony.  The  facts, 
outside  of  his  confession,  indicated,  unmistakeably,  suicide 
on  the  part  of  Cullens,  and  a  slight  acquaintance  with 
criminal  practice  will  satisfy  any  one  that  no  species  of 
evidence  is  so  liable  to  be  false  as  confession  of  crime. 
It  is  a  singular  aberration  of  the  human  mind,  and  hun- 
dreds of  cases  have  shown  that  under  some  strong  delu- 
sion men  have  confessed  offences  which  were  impossible 
for  them  to  have  committed.  I  do  not  believe  that  Titus 
Paine  really  thought  he  had  murdered  Amos  Cullens. 
His  declarations  to  that  effect  were  simple  gasconade ; 
but  many  have  honestly  been  under  the  impression  that 
they  had  committed  offenses  of  which  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  their  entire  innocence.  The  human  mind,  in 
dwelling  upon  some  crimes,  seems,  by  a  mysterious 
fascination,  to  become  convinced  of  participation  in 
things  which  they  have  never  witnessed." 

"  Grandfather,"  said  Philip,  "  how  did  Titus  come  to 
live  in  this  region  of  the  State?" 

"  After  his  acquittal  in  the  second  trial,"  said  Judge 
Eustace,  "his  temper,  which  had  not  been  originally 
cruel,  became  fearfully  malignant.  For  several  years  be- 
fore he  was  arrested  on  the  charge  of  murder,  he  had 
been  living  with  a  free  woman  of  color  as  his  wife.  He 
had  frequently  told  her  he  had  slain  Amos  Cullens,  and, 
when  he  was  put  on  his  trial,  she  had  no  doubt  of  his 
conviction  and  punishment  with  death.  Upon  his  sen- 
tence becoming  known,  she  had,  with  the  facility  of  that 
class  of  our  population  for  consolation  in  such  distress, 
listened  to  the  addresses  of  a  free-negro  ;  and  while  Titus 
lay  in  jail  she  became  the  wife  of  the  new  suitor.   On  his 


Titus  Paine— the  Outlaw.  307 

acquittal  and  discharge,  he,  becoming  acquainted  with 
these  hasty  nuptials,  manifested  displeasure  only  in  his 
scowling  face,  and  said  nothing  indicating  enmity  toward 
the  unfaithful  partner  of  his  bed  and  board.  He  had  been 
at  liberty  but  a  short  time  when  the  house,  in  which  she 
and  her  paramour  were  staying,  was  burned  during  the 
night,  and  two  unconsumed  hearts,  with  some  of  the 
larger  bones  of  the  human  body,  were  all  that  remained 
of  the  couple  who  had  lived  there.  Suspicion  of  course 
immediately  rested  on  Titus  Paine,  and  though  the  evi- 
dence was  slight,  there  was  but  little  doubt  on  the  minds 
of  the  people  that  he  had  slain  the  objects  of  his  resent- 
ment, and  then  fired  the  house  to  conceal  the  double 
murd'er  he  had  committed." 

"  A  portion  of  the  community,"  continued  Judge  Eus- 
tace, "  went  to  the  farm  of  his  master,  and  having  taken 
possession  of  Titus,  proceeded  to  hang  him  without 
further  aid  of  judge  or  jury.  His  great  weight  broke 
the  rope,  when  a  negro-trader,  who  happened  to  be  pres- 
ent, offered,  at  this  juncture,  to  purchase  him  and  carry 
him  from  the  State,  if  they  would  consent  not  to  kill  him. 
The  crowd,  fickle  as  unlawful  assemblies  always  are, 
agreed  to  the  proposition,  as  Titus,  in  the  meanwhile, 
had  solemnly  sworn  that  if  they  would  thus  permit  his 
departure  he  would  never  return.  Once  more  rescued 
from  impending  death,  he  was  heavily  ironed  and  put  in 
jail  until,  shortly  afterward,  the  speculator  started  with  a 
gang  of  negroes  for  the  Gulf  States.  To  make  sure  of 
Titus  this  time,  he  was  chained  to  another  negro  man  of 
whose  fidelity  the  trader  had  no  doubt.  Paine  passed 
quietly  through  the  country,  and  had  gone  fifty  miles 
west  of  St.  Kilda  Valley,  when,  late  one  night,  the  camp 


308  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

was  alarmed  by  the  stifled  cries  of  the  man  to  whom 
Titus  was  fettered.  For  the  first  time  since  starting,  the 
speculator  had  neglected  to  chain  the  legs  of  Titus.  He 
had  arisen  at  midnight,  and  grasping  his  companion  and 
threatening  him  with  death  if  he  made  a  noise,  he  sprang 
off  into  the  darkness.  The  terrified  negro  made  desper- 
ate efforts,  both  by  outcries  and  muscular  exertion  to  im- 
pede the  flight  of  the  giant  who  was  thus  bearing  him  off 
against  his  consent ;  but  his  struggles  and  the  white  man's 
pursuit  were  unavailing,  for  Titus  made  his  escape,  and 
was  seen  shortly  afterwards  in  this  valley.  No  one  knows 
the  fate  of  him  he  carried  off. 

"  Since  that  time,  he  has  mainly  lived  in  the  valley,  in 
open  war  with  the  white  men  and  every  negro  unwilling 
to  join  him  in  his  desperate  villainy.  Four  years  ago 
Silas  Haines,  a  white  man  of  advanced  age  and  great 
kindness  of  disposition,  heard,  late  at  night,  some  one 
breaking  into  his  smoke-house,  and  going  out  fired  both 
barrels  of  his  gun  to  frighten  away  the  thief.  Titus  Paine 
deliberately  cut  his  throat,  and  carried  off  the  bacon  he 
desired.  Many  efforts  have  been  made  to  capture  him, 
but  his  cunning  and  desperate  courage  have  enabled  him 
to  elude  them  all. 

"  Philip,  you  may  congratulate  yourself  upon  a  feat  of 
which  Hercules  himself  might  have  justly  felt  proud,  and, 
but  for  your  knowledge  of  fencing,  you  would  have  met 
the  fate  of  Nathan  Dale." 

Philip  was  much  bruised  in  his  desperate  struggle  with 
the  outlaw  whose  heavy  club,  though  in  a  great  measure 
parried  by  the  stout  walking  stick,  had  beaten  down  its 
defence  enough  to  inflict  several  serious  blows  on  his 
arms  and  head.    His  prodigious  exertions,  when  he  found 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  309 

himself  in  the  African's  grasp,  rendered  him  hoarse  and 
feverish  for  nearly  a  month  afterwards. 

For  some  time  past,  Mariana  had  ceased  to  improve  in 
her  vision;  for  her  health,  at  .ill  times  delicate,  had  evi- 
dently become  affected  through  sympathy  with  her  grand- 
mother's sorrow,  and  her  own  distress  at  Stanhope 
Eustace's  death.  Dr.  Vane,  of  St.  Kilda,  who  had  long 
attended  her,  wrote  to  her  father  recommending  a  change 
in  her  mode  of  life  and  surrounding  scenes.  About  this 
time  the  President  of  the  United  States,  knowing  that  his 
friend  and  supporter  was  nearly  at  the  end  of  his  term  of 
office,  tendered  Gov.  Eustace  the  mission  to  Paris.  He 
had  determined  to  withdraw  entirely  from  political  life, 
but  Philip  would  leave  in  a  short  time  for  Europe;  and 
here  too  was  Dr.  Vane,  in  whose  sagacity  he  had  much 
confidence,  recommending  change  of  scene  for  Mariana. 
Besides  this,  that  love  of  office,  which,  like  a  second  na- 
ture, infuses  itself  in  the  dispositions  of  men,  suggested 
to  him  that  he  could  be  with  his  family  and  enjoy  great 
station  at  the  same  time  by  accepting  the  President's 
offer.  Let  no  man  sneer  at  this  double  purpose  of  the 
brilliant  politician,  nor  arrogate  to  himself  superiority, 
thinking  he  would  have  acted  differently  under  the  reso- 
lution Gov.  Eustace  had  formed.  Let  him  remember, 
that  of  all  the  potentates  of  whom  we  have  record,  none 
but  Diocletian  and  Charles  V.,  have  voluntarily  laid  down 
the  purple. 

Gov.  Eustace  had  long  desired  to  visit  Europe,  and  was 
convinced  that  it  would  be  beneficial  to  his  mother  and 
daughter  to  accompany  Philip  as  far  as  Paris :  added  to 
these  inducements,  the  position  offered  him  by  the  presi- 
dent led  him  to  visit  Ellesmere  at  once,  before  taking  any 


310  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

further  steps  in  the  matter.  The  serene  and  passionless 
judgment  of  the  father  still  maintained  its  ascendency 
over  the  conduct  of  the  son,  clothed  as  he  was  with  the 
delegated  dignity  of  a  commonwealth.  His  propositions 
were  soon  acceeded  to  by  the  parents,  and  it  was  determin- 
ed they  should  depart  for  the  Eastern  world  as  soon  as 
affairs  could  be  properly  arranged.  Gov.  Eustace  was  to 
return  in  a  few  days  to  the  capital,  and  having  accepted 
the  offer  of  the  French  mission,  to  resign  at  once  his 
office  as  chief  magistrate  of  the  State. 

The  superior  court,  the  next  day,  commenced  its  fall 
session  at  St.  Kilda,  and  the  male  members  of  the  family 
at  Ellesmere  were  all  in  attendance.  The  grand  jury,  on 
Tuesday  morning,  brought  in  a  true  bill  against  Titus 
Paine  for  the  murder  of  Nathan  Dale,  and  on  Wednes- 
day he  was  carried  to  the  court  house  for  arraignment. 
The  ferocity  and  manifold  crimes  of  the  prisoner  attracted 
an  immense  concourse  to  witness  his  trial.  The  iron 
firmness  of  his  character  still  sustained  him  in  his  reso- 
lution to  be  silent,  and  when  asked  how  he  would  be 
tried,  the  counsel  assigned  him  had  to  reply  for  him,  "  by 
God  and  the  country."  He  bore  an  undaunted  front, 
and  met  with  unfaltering  gaze  the  scrutiny  of  the  multi- 
tude thirsting  for  his  blood.  When  called  upon  to  plead 
he  said  nothing,  and  the  plea  of  not  guilty  was  entered 
up  by  order  of  the  judge. 

The  solicitor  for  the  State  opened  the  prosecution,  aided 
by  Mr.  Soraerville  and  Arthur  Kean.  He  remarked  that 
he  was  sure  that  men,  who  had  acted  with  such  extra- 
ordinary forbearance  in  not  taking  the  life  of  the  prisoner 
at  once,  on  his  capture,  would  now  administer  even-han- 
ded justice  in  listening  to  and  weighing  the  evidence  to 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  311 

be  laid  before  them.  The  law  in  its  offended  majesty 
was  ever  merciful  to  the  criminal,  for  men  not  interested 
in  slaves  were  not  eligible  as  jury  men  on  this  occasion. 
After  a  few  other  remarks  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution 
were  called  and  duly  sworn,  and  a  murmur  of  admiration 
arose  from  the  dense  throng  as  Philip  Eustace  took  his 
place  on  the  stand. 

"  Now  there's  a  man  as  is  a  man  ;"  said  an  honest  old 
daleman,  "thank  God  old  Titus  met  his  match  at  last.' 

"  Well !  now  'uint  young  Philip  as  proper  a  man  as  ever 
you  see?"  said  the  man  at  his  elbow. 

"  You  see  that  black  bruise  on  his  temple?  That's 
where  Titus  struck  him." 

"  Yes,  I  sees  it ;  it  was  a  powerful  lick,  but  from  what 
I've  hearn,  Philip  paid  him  up  for  it  when  he  got  the 
flying-mare  hitch  upon  him." 

Philip's  testimony  was  soon  given,  and  the  calmness  of 
his  demeanor  was  such  that  when  the  counsel  for  the 
prisoner  took  up  the  cross-examination  he  was  soon  satis- 
fied that  nothing  could  be  gained  by  persistance  in  his 
interrogatories.  The  jury  and  audience  exhibited  signs 
of  impatience  and  displeasure  at  questions  they  consid- 
ered ill-timed  and  disrespectful  to  him  they  then  regard- 
ed as  the  most  deserving  of  mankind.  Miranda  had  been 
seriously  injured  by  the  beating  Titus  had  given  her,  and 
was  so  weak  she  could  scarcely  stand,  but  she  entirely 
corroborated  the  testimony  already  given.  She  was  un- 
mistakably terrified  by  the  scowls  of  the  prisoner,  being 
unable  to  realize,  even  then,  that  she  was  safe  from  his 
persecution.  Two  negro  men  swore  they  had  heard  Titus 
Paine  declare,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  that  he  would 
take  the  life  of  Nathan  Dale  as  a  recompense  for  the  over- 


312  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

seer's  efforts  to  capture  him.  As  the  prisoner  still  re- 
mained obstinately  silent,  no  witnesses  were  introduced 
for  the  defense. 

Arthur  Kean  and  the  solicitor  for  the  State  made  able 
speeches,  and  were  replied  to  by  the  learned  and  ingeni- 
ous gentleman  who  defended  the  accused.  He  evidently 
considered  his  efforts  exerted  in  a  bad  cause,  and  there- 
fore fell  short  of  his  usual  eloquent  persuasion.  His 
honor,in  submitting  the  case  to  the  jury,  told  them  there 
were  no  controverted  law  points  for  his  decision;  if  the 
testimony  adduced  in  their  hearing  was  believed  by  them 
to  be  true,  then  Titus  Paine,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  was 
guilty  of  wilful  and  felonious  murder  on  the  person  of 
Nathan  Dale,  as  alleged  in  the  bill  of  indictment.  He 
charged  them  that  however  odious  and  criminal  may 
have  been  the  previous  character  of  the  accused,  they 
should  remember  they  were  trying  him  on  the  merits  of 
the  case  then  under  hearing,  and  the  prisoner's  former 
misdeeds  should  have  no  connection  with  the  matter 
properly  under  their  consideration  in  making  up  their 
verdict. 

The  jury  retired  to  their  room  for  consultation,  and  the 
dense  crowd  remained  in  breathless  attention,  awaiting 
their  return.  For  the  first  time  since  the  commencement 
of  the  trial  the  prisoner  exhibited  an  interest  in  what  was 
transpiring.  He  lost. his  indifference,  and  his  eyes  seem- 
ed riveted  on  the  door  through  which  they  had  retired. 
His  respiration  became  quick  and  distressing,  and, 
although  the  day  was  cool,  big  drops  of  perspiration  col- 
lected upon  his  low  forehead.  The  lower  jaw  seemed  to 
lose  its  vitality  and  fell,  displaying  his  strong,  spotless 
teeth.     The  huge  frame,  which  had  borne  itself  so  defi- 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  313 

antly  hitherto,  now  drooped  with  an  agony  of  apprehen- 
sion ;  and  monster  as  he  was,  Philip,  who  was  observing 
him,  could  but  feel  pity  at  his  torture. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  I  have  thought,  until  this  moment, 
that  Titus  Paine  was  insensible  to  fear,  but  see  how  un- 
manned he  is  at  the  prospect  of  the  sentence  of  death." 

"You  will  find  yourself  mistaken  when  the  jury  re- 
turns," said  Gov.  Eustace.  "  Here  they  come  ;  now  watch 
him  and  you  will  see  it  was  suspense  which  apparently 
unmanned  him." 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  what  say  you?"  said  the  clerk 
of  the  court;  "is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not 
guilty?" 

"  Guilty  !"  said  the  foreman,  and  as  he  spoke  the  word 
the  colossal  figure  of  the  accused  straightened  itself  as  .if 
in  positive  triumph.  The  keen,  undaunted  eyes  seemed 
strangely  luminous  as  they  roved  over  the  assembly. 
With  one  long  breath  the  heaving  chest  resumed  its 
ordinary  movements,  and  Titus  Paine  appeared  as  little 
interested  in  the  proceedings  as  any  man  present. 

"Let  the  prisoner  stand  up  to  receive  his  sentence," 
said  the  judge,  and  without  further  orders  the  murderer 
arose  to  his  full  height,  towering  like  Saul,  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  people. 

"  Titus  Paine,"  said  his  Honor,  "you  have  been  duly 
convicted  by  a  sworn  jury  of  your  countrymen  of  the 
felonious  killing  of  Nathan  Dale,  then  being  in  the  peace 
of  God  and  the  State.  You  have  committed  a  heinous 
crime,  and  we  are  told  in  the  sacred  scriptures  and  the 
practices  of  all  civilized  communities  that  the  murderer 
shall  surely  be  put  to  death.  The  court  therefore  directs 
that  you  shall  be  taken  from  the  jail,  by  the  sheriff  of 


314  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

this  county,  between  the  hours  of  ten  and  three  o'clock, 
on  the  twelfth  day  of  the  ensuing  month,  and  that  you 
be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  are  dead,  and  may  God 
have  mercy  on  your  soul  I" 

The  prisoner  was  taken  back  to  his  dungeon,  and  the 
people  retired  from  the  court  house.  The  judge  and  others 
were  seated  on  the  piazza  in  front  of  the  hotel  rooms 
occupied  during  court  week  by  the  lawyers  from  a  dis- 
tance. 

"  Nagle,"  said  judge  Marsden,  "  what  was  the  matter 
with  you  to-day  ?  You  were  by  no  means  yourself  in 
the  speech  you  made." 

"I  was  very  much  puzzled  to  talk  at  all,"  said  Mr. 
Nagle,  "  and  I  think  the  people  of  St.  Kilda  valley  de- 
serve much  credit  for  not  hanging  that  wretch  before  the 
court  met.  I  felt,  all  the  time  I  was  defending  him,  that 
he  was  the  veriest  scoundrel  alive.  Did  you  observe  how7 
soon  the  jury  and  bystanders  commenced  looking  indig- 
nant when  I  was  cross-examining  young  Eustace?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  knew  you  were  injuring  your  case  b}r  the 
questions  you  were  asking.  Young  Eustace  seems  to  be 
as  much  beloved  here  as  his  father  is  all  over  the  State." 

"He  must  be  a  Samson  in  strength,"  said  Nagle,  "to 
have  overcome  that  gigantic  negro  in  fair  fight.  I  won- 
der if  his  mental  endowments  are  up  to  the  traditional 
mark  of  his  family  ?" 

"  He  has  the  best  balanced  mind  I  have  ever  known," 
said  Kean.  "  Governor  Young,  of  the  University,  regards 
him  as  the  most  promising  youth  of  his  acquaintance." 

"  I  recollect  now,"  said  Nagle,  "  that  a  neighbor  of  mine, 
who  was  at  college  with  him,  spoke  very  highly  of  Philip 
Eustace,  the  sou  of  the  Governor  of  the  State.     He  must 


Titus  Paine— the  Outlaw.  315 

be  very  deserving,  if  the  half  of  what  Tom.  Larkins  told 
me  is  true." 

"  It  is  to  be  regretted,"  said  Mr.  Somerville,  "  that  Judge 
Eustace  opposes  his  practice  of  the  law ;  for  I  am  persua- 
ded he  would  become  an  ornament  to  the  profession,  in 
the  event  of  his  turning  his  attention  in  that  direction." 

"  Governor  Eustace  is  to  make  his  farewell  speech  to- 
morrow," said  Kean.  "  His  friends  are  preparing  a  din- 
ner, and,  after  much  persuasion,  he  has  consented  to  ad- 
dress them.  You  have  heard  of  his  intention  to  resign 
his  position  as  governor?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Judge  Marsden,  "  he  told  me  he  would  ac- 
cept the  French  mission,  tendered  him  by  the  President. 
We  must  finish  the  court  business  in  time  to  hear  his 
address." 

A.  carriage  containing  Judge  Eustace  and  the  governor 
now  drove  up.  Judge  Marsden  had  promised  to  spend  the 
night  at  Eilesmere,  and  they  went  off  in  that  direction. 
Ashton  Eustace,  George  Marsden  and  Mr.  Somerville 
were  members  of  the  same  class  at  the  University.  In 
eloquence  and  native  ability,  the  politician  surpassed  his 
early  friends ;  but  both  had  achieved  eminence  by  dili- 
gence in  study  and  unceasing  attention  to  the  details  of 
their  profession. 

"  Marsden/'  said  Governor  Eustace,  as  they  neared  the 
park  gate  at  Eilesmere,  "  is  not  this  a  glorious  region  to 
live  in  and  look  upon?  I  was  never  happy  out  of  these 
mountain  barriers,  and  the  pleasantest  hope  of  my  life  is 
the  prospect  of  spending  the  evening  of  my  days  amid 
their  unfailing  beauties." 

"  St.  Kilda  Valley  is  certainly  full  of  charms,"  said 
Judge  Marsden,  looking  on  the  noble  views  to  their  left, 


316  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  but  happiness  is  rarely  found  in  the  loveliest  spots  of 
creation,  unless  the  higher  cravings  of  the  mind  are  sat- 
isfied." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Governor,  "  but  I  have  not  thus  sweet- 
ened my  toil  amid  my  native  hills.  I  have  passed  the 
larger  portion  of  m}^  manhood  amid  the  fruitless  paths  of 
ambition,  and  now  that  I  have  the  prospect  of  return,  I 
shall  shortly  be  borne  awaj  by  overruling  circumstances 
farther  than  ever  before.  Life  is  full  of  contradictions, 
and  is,  at  best,  the  sport  of  chance.  I  have  been  promis- 
ing myself  peace  and  happiness,  but 

"  w  To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  .„ 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death."  ' 

Percival  St.  George  and  Philip  were  riding  on  horse- 
back along  the  turnpike.  They  had  been  discussing  the 
incidents  of  the  trial.  Philip  felt  solemn  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  through  him  a  fellow  creature  had  been  drag- 
ged to  punishment;  but  no  foolish  sentimentalism  mar- 
red his  satisfaction  in  his  consciousness  of  the  benefit  he 
had  conferred  on  his  people. 

"  Cousin  Percy,"  said  he,  "  is  there  no  hope  of  your  ac- 
companying us  abroad?" 

"  No,  Philip,  I  have  been  of  so  little  use  in  life,  I  am 
determined,  for  this  once,  to  strive  to  be  of  some  service 
to  my  friends.  As  your  grandfather  and  father  will  be 
absent  for  some  time,  I  think  some  one  of  the  family 
should   remain   in  the  valley.      Cousin   Henrietta,  too, 


Titus  Paine — the  Outlaw.  317 

would  be  without  an  adviser,  and  she  and  Rosamond 
need  some  one  of  us  in  their  neighborhood  ;  so  Mr.  Grey 
and  I  will  remain  and  see  that  matters  are  properly  man- 
aged at  Ellesmere,  Grafton  and  Blenheim,  and  visit 
Thorndale  occasionally." 

The  night  wind  was  scattering  the  withered  leaves  in 
the  park,  as  they  neared  the  house.  The  stag-hounds 
bayed  deep-mouthed  welcome  from  the  front  porch  ;  and 
the  stars  threw  their  feeble  radiance  on  the  carriage  way. 
Slowly,  and  in  silence,  rode  the  cousins,  full  of  thought 
and  emotion.  Life  had  taught  lessons  to  both.  To  the 
elder 

"One  fatal  remembrance — one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes — 
To  which  Life  nothing  darker  nor  brighter  can  bring, 
For  which  joy  hath  no  balm  and  affliction  no  sting." 

Both  were  largely  gifted  in  whatever  men  consider  de- 
sirable. One  in  the  dawn  of  boundless  hope  was  yet 
humble  and  contented  with  whatever  the  fates  might 
bring;  the  other,  with  equal  opportunities,  had  found  the 
promise  of  life  all  delusion,  and  the  bubble  of  expected 
joy  had  broken  in  his  grasp.  The  youth  in  body  and 
soul  yielded  to  heaven  the  submission  of  a  child ;  while 
the  matured  man  united  his  womanly  delicacy  to  the 
obstinacy  of  Prometheus,  and  relied  only  upon  himself. 
Up  beyond  those  stars,  in  the  quiet  depths  of  the  infinite 
dwelt  merciful  forbearance  with  the  weaknesses  of  both. 
One  dreamed  of  the  fates  ever  busy  with  their  webs  of 
human  destiny;  the  other  of  that  divine  love  controlling 
the  nimble  fingers  of  the  children  of  the  night.     To  the 


318 


The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


christian  youth,  existence  was  full  of  boundless  hope  and 
increasing  joy ;  to  the  skeptic  all  was  darkness,  and  he 
could  but 


"  Chide  the  cripple,  tardy-gaited  night, 
"Who,  like  a  foul  and  ugly  witch,  did  limp 
So  tediously  away." 


Gov.  Eustace's  Valedictory.  319 

CHAPTER  XVI. 


gov.  Eustace's  valedictory. 


One  rubbed  his  elbow,  thus;  and  fleered,  and  swore, 
A  better  speech  was  never  spoke  before: 
Another,  with  his  finger  and  his  thumb, 
Cried  "Via!  we  will  do't,  come  what  will  come!" 
The  third  he  capered,  and  cried,  "All  goes  well!" 

— Love's  Labors  Lost. 

The  preparations  for  the  public  dinner  to  the  retiring 
governor  were  completed,  and  the  entire  population  of 
St.  Kilda  Valley,  having  donned  their  best  clothes,  were 
collecting  on  the  fair-grounds,  near  the  village.  There 
was  but  little  division  in  their  minds  on  political  ques- 
tions, and  in  their  support  of  Gov.  Eustace  they  always 
exhibited  remarkable  enthusiasm  and  unanimity.  Tbe 
merits  of  his  ancestry,  the  virtues  and  position  of  his 
father,  added  to  his  own  winning  manner,  made  him 
almost  an  idol  to  those  among  whom  he  had  been  reared. 
To  vote  against  him  was  to  incur  the  odium  of  a  com- 
munity highly  appreciating  social  enjoyments,  and  even 
his  early  opponent,  Mr.  Compton,  soon  discovered  his 
own  road  to  popularity  lay  in  graceful  submission  to  the 
general  will.  Many  things  had  combined  to  feed  this 
popular  fancy.  The  charity  of  himself  and  father;  the 
real  devotion  of  his  luminious  intelligence  to  duties  as- 
sumed, and  the  fact  that  he  was  enough  absent  to  make 
his  return  always  the  occasion  of  congratulation,  had  con- 
spired to  fix  him  in  the  public  mind.. 

This  confidence  of  the  people  was  warmly  appreciated 
by  the  impulsive  leader.    The  depth  of  this  feeling  beamed 


320  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

in  his  eyes  and  trembled  in  his  utterance  whenever  he 
confessed  to  them  the  pleasure  he  thus  received,  and 
hardy  mountaineers  would  return  to  their  humble  homes 
after  listening  to  these  impassioned  assurances;  and  eyes 
which  never  lost  their  steadiness  in  the  face  of  danger 
would  swim  with  tenderness,  when  wives  and  children 
were  told  how  Ashton  Eustace  had  been  talking  that  day. 
It  was,  then,  with  great  concern  and  regret  that  they 
learned  one  so  long  loved  and  trusted  was  about  to  leave 
their  service.  To  many  who  had  come  to  regard  him  as 
necessary  to  the  public  weal,  it  was  a  source  of  unmixed 
sorrow.  The  family  afflictions  at  Ellesmere  were  known, 
and  disabled  veterans  who  had  served  in  Mexico  with 
Stanhope,  returning,  told  the  particulars  of  the  dauntless 
soldier's  death,  satisfying  all  that  these  aiid  other  causes 
justified  the  governor  in  taking  the  step  they  so  much 
deplored.  In  accepting  the  honor  of  the  farewell  dinner, 
he  had  requested  the  committee  who  waited  upon  him  to 
make  this  the  occasion  for  assembling  all  his  friends  in 
the  valle\\  He  wished  to  see  the  good  men  there  with 
their  wives  and  children,  to  rejoice  with  them  that  ere 
long  he  would  be  free  to  return  to  his  home  in  their 
midst. 

At  an  early  hour  the  place  selected  was  thronged  by 
people  from  every  nook  and  corner  of  St.  Kilda  vale. 
The  rustic  swains  came  on  horseback  with  their  sweet- 
hearts en  croupe,  and  in  waggons  filled  with  all  ages  and 
descriptions  of  the  population.  Each  good  woman  well 
recollected  the  smooth-spoken  young  candidate  that  was 
years  ago  so  fond  of  her  children,  and  as  she  had  heard 
he  wished  to  see  her  and  her  progeny,  she  had  come  to 
help  her  husband  do  honor  to  him  who  had  done  honor 


Gov.  Eustace's   Valedictory.  321 

to  the  valley.  Gov.  Eustace  spent  a  greater  portion  of 
the  morning  in  greetings  and  conversations  with  his 
friends.  He  had  the  faculty  of  never  forgetting  a  face 
once  seen,  and  all  who  were  old  enough  to  have  attracted 
his  attention  in  his  early  canvasses  were  recognized  and 
addressed  by  him. 

"  Make  way,  men  !"  cried  a  strong  voice.  "  Aunt  Polly 
Dunn  wants  to  shake  hands  with  the  Governor." 

A  venerable  woman,  bent  with  the  weight  of  years, 
came  slowly  wending  her  way  through  the  crowd.  A 
long  walking-stick  was  in  one  hand,  and  the  other  rested 
on  the  shoulder  of  a  lad  who  walked  by  her  side,  in 
mingled  assurance  and  modesty. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Dunn,"  said  the  Governor, 
going  forward  to  meet  her.  "  How  are  you  and  yours  to* 
day,  madam  ?" 

"Thank  the  Lord,  sir,  we  be  all  as  well  as  we  could 
look  for.     How  is  it  with  you  and  your  folks,  Governor  ?" 

"  I  am  well,  but  my  mother  and  daughter  are  in  feeble 
health." 

"  I  have  hearn  as  much,"  said  she.  u  Well,  Governor, 
here  is  the  boy,  my  poor  son,  Henry,  named  after  you. 
He  wanted  to  see  you,  and  I  wanted  to  see  you,  so  we 
have  come  all  the  way  here  to  lay  eyes  on  ye  once  more." 

"  How  old  are  you,  Ashton  ?"  said  the  Governor. 

"  I  am  sixteen  my  next  birth  day,  sir." 

"  We  are  all  troubled  in  mind  about  you,  up  in  Laurel- 
dale,  Governor,"  said  Mrs.  Dunn.  "  Some  of  us  knows 
what  it  is  to  have  sorrow  at  the  heart." 

"  God  has  sent  me  a  great  trouble,"  said  the  Governor. 

"  Well,  Governor,"  said  an  old  daleman,  "  I  have  always 
stuck  by  you  through  thick  and  thin,  and  I  tell  you  now, 
21 


322  The  Heirs  of  Si.  Kilda, 

I  believe  you  are  taking  away  our  best  friend  in  going 
over  yonder  to  them  French  folks." 

Hundreds  of  such  greetings  and  assurances  met  him 
on  every  side,  and  he  was  often  touched  by  manifesta- 
tions of  attachment  and  sympathy,  but  the  next  moment 
his  elastic  spirits  had  recovered.  Wherever  he  went, 
there  was  a  circle  of  admiring  listeners  who  were  eager 
to  hear  all  that  he  should  say.  The  prosperous  condition 
of  the  people  not  supporting  much  litigation  in  the  courts, 
all  the  law  docket  had  been  disposed  of,  and  the  judge 
adjourned  the  session.  The  large  audience-hall  was  filled 
to  its  utmost  capacity,  as  the  time  approached  for  the 
orator  to  commence,  and  his  entrance  was  greeted  with 
loud  and  prolonged  cheering.  The  beauty  and  intelli- 
gence of  the  valley  were  present  side  by  side  with  its- 
honest  yeomanry.  Every  eye  was  bent  upon  him  who 
was  now  to  make  his  last  speech.  A  thousand  hearts- 
beat  quickly  as  he  ascended  the  stage  ;  and  as  the  cheers 
died  away,  Gov.  Eustace  said  he  was  unable  to  express 
the  emotions  which  filled  his  heart.  "I  confess  to  you," 
he  continued,  "I  have  never  so  painfully  realized  my  own 
unworthiness,  as  to-day  in  the  face  of  this  great  and  un- 
merited honor  you  do  me.  I  cannot  find  words  to  tell 
my  gratitude  for  your  generous  appreciation.  I  have  this 
day  met  you  all,  among  whom  I  was  born  and  reared, 
and  as  I  glance  over  this  great  throng  I  am  reminded 
that  you  are  here  to  testify  your  affection  to  me.  Was  it 
not  enough,  when  I  was  young,  that  you  took  me  by  the 
hand  and  gave  me  your  confidence?  Think  you  that 
twenty  years  of  loving  trust  are  insufficient  to  gratify  the 
cravings  of  my  heart?  Hard,  indeed,  would  I  be  to 
satisfy,  if  such  were  the  case.     Then  let  me  thank  you,. 


Gov.  Eustace's  Valedictory.  323 

my  friends,  with  all  ray  soul,  in  this,  perhaps,  the  last 
speech  I  shall  ever  make,  and  assure  you,  that  while  life 
lasts  I  shall  remember  your  kindness.  When  I  came 
home  I  had  no  dream  of  such  a  thing,  and  I  should  not 
have  consented  to  address  you,  as  much  as  I  desired 
to  meet  with  you  all,  had  not  the  high  and  important 
issues  now  being  made,  in  my  opinion,  called  for  a  part- 
ing word  of  advice. 

''  Fellow  citizens,  I  am  here,  at  your  own  request,  to 
give  you  my  views  on  political  topics.  I  came  with  no 
purpose  of  my  own  to  subserve.  I  am  at  the  close  of  my 
career  as  a  solicitor  of  your  suffrages,  and  the  wide  ocean 
will  be  between  us  before  you  will  cast  your  votes  in  de- 
termination of  some  of  the  matters  which  I  shall  discuss. 
Then  I  know  you  will  believe  what  I  tell  you  to-dajr, 
thus  assured  that  I  have  no  further  interest  in  the  matter 
than  what  every  good  citizen  must  feel  in  the  welfare  of 
the  country. 

"  We  have  abundant  cause  for  gratitude  to  heaven  for 
the  unnumbered  blessings  we  enjoy  as  a  people.  Less 
than  two  centuries  ago,  our  forefathers,  led  by  the  provi- 
dence of  God,  came  here  to  live  in  a  wilderness.  In  the 
interval  which  separates  us  from  that  time,  we  have  seen 
a  republic,  grand  in  all  its  dimensions,  take  the  place  of 
previous  discord  and  petty  division.  Year  by  year  the 
axe  of  the  white  man  has  been  heard  nearer  the  setting 
sun.  Slowly,  in  the  same  direction,  has  retired  the  red 
man  of  the  forest,  departing  like  a  shadow  from  the  haunts 
of  his  forefathers,  and  with  his  frail  canoe  yielding  place 
to  the  stately  argosies  of  advancing  civilization.  This 
country,  so  vast  in  its  extent,  and  so  wonderful  in  the  va- 
riety of  its  resources,  has  been,  by  the  wisdom  and  patriot- 


324  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

ism  of  our  ancestors,  blessed  with  a  government  free  and 
beneficent  in  its  nature.  The  statesmen  who  framed  the 
Federal  Constitution,  have  left  us  a  legacy  which  will 
make  us  the  happiest  people  in  the  world,  if  we  are  only 
virtuous  and  wise  enough  to  adhere  to  its  directions. 
Fellow  citizens,  shall  we  do  this?  Will  the  obstinacy 
and  selfishness  of  mankind  allow  us  to  preserve  this  char- 
ter intact?  I  confess  to  you,  I  have  many  doubts  on  the 
subject. 

"  A  cloud  has  arisen  upon  our  political  horizon,  which 
was  scarce  discernible  when  we  first  knew  each  other; 
but  it  has  increased  its  proportions,  until  now  it  over- 
shadows the  land.  You  all  understand  me  as  referring 
to  the  growing  disposition  of  some  people  to  interfere  with 
affairs  which  were  in  the  most  solemn  manner  guaranteed 
to  the  several  states,  as  things  incident  to  their  reserved 
sovereignty.  We  all  agree  as  to  what  our  rights  are ;  but 
I  wish  to  warn  you  against  the  insidious  approaches  of 
this  spirit,  which,  unchecked,  will  some  day  destroy  the 
liberties  of  us  all.  I  declare  to  you,  that  in  my  opinion, 
the  constitution  under  which  we  live  is  worse  than  use- 
less, unless  its  spirit  and  letter  are  observed.  A  people 
who  have  agreed  to  a  charter,  which  plainly  declares  the 
way  in  which  they  should  be  governed,  are  supremely 
blessed  so  long  as  that  instrument  is  regarded  ;  but  when 
it  ceases  to  be  observed,  and  the  dominant  majority  de- 
spise its  restraints,  the  whole  thing  becomes  a  mockery 
and  a  delusion. 

"  We  have  long  been  remarkable  for  the  moderation 
and  conservatism  of  our  habits.  We  have  preserved  more 
of  the  laws  and  institutions  under  which  our  fathers  lived 
than  any  other  American  community,  but  it  seems  this 


Gov.  Eustace's   Valedictory.  325 

season  of  contentment  is  about  to  pass  away.  There  is  a 
wide-spread  and  persistent  agitation  of  subjects  dangerous 
in  their  ultimate  effects,  and,  full  of  evil  omens  for  our 
future  happiness." 

Governor  Eustace  proceeded  to  explain  the  anomalous 
condition  of  the  Southern  States.  How,  in  a  free  republic, 
they  were  yet  filled  with  millions  of  bondmen.  That 
question  had  been  of  serious  import  ever  since  the  action 
of  Mr.  Jefferson  and  Virginia  had  initiated  the  policy  of 
the  Federal  Government  as  to  the  new  States  and  Terri- 
tories, The  ordinance  of  1789  was  but  one  of  a  thous- 
and other  indications  that  the  Southern  men  of  that  day 
contemplated  gradual  emancipation  of  their  slaves.  But 
this  spirit  had  met  with  strange  recognition.  The  early 
abolition  petitions  to  Congress-  had  been  followed  by 
movements,  gradually  increasing  in  offensive  action  and 
comment,  until  the  former  liberal  and  philosophic  spirit 
of  the  slave-holders  became  lost  in  disgust  and  opposition 
to  all  the  schemes  of  the  abolitionists.  This  alienation 
of  the  sections  was  growing  year  by  year.  An  enmity 
which  could  only  eventuate  in  bloodshed  was  evident  to 
the  most  careless  observer.  He  besought  his  people  to 
discard  such  a  spirit  and  trust  to  the  better  feelings  of 
the  future  for  the  healing  of  the  great  breach  in  the  Re- 
public's life. 

He  advised  his  hearers  to  give  less  devotion  to  party 
and  more  to  the  country.  To  cleave  to  their  rights  under 
the  law,  but  at  the  same  time  to  abstain  from  those  ani- 
mosities and  recriminations  which  availed  nothing  but  to 
increase  the  evil.  He  besought  his  people  to  act  frankfv 
and  mercifully  with  their  bondsmen,  and  to  remember 


326  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

that  they  were  in  no  wise  responsible  for  the  dangers  and 
distractions  of  trie  time. 

The  subjects  discussed  by  Gov.  Eustace  are  generally 
of  passionless  inquiry.  The  calm  and  deliberate  political 
economist  studies  them  in  the  quiet  of  his  retirement, 
but  the  passionate  leader  discerned  danger  in  the  objects 
of  his  animadversion,  and,  throughout  the  delivery  of 
his  speech,  exhibited  the  most  intense  feeling.  No  man 
in  all  the  concourse  went  away  with  a  doubt  of  his  deep 
concern  for  the  public  welfare.  The  honest  mountaineers 
had  never  heard  Ashton  Eustace  speak  with  so  much 
earnestness  and  solemnity  before.  Not  an  anecdote  fell 
from  his  lips,  and  they  were  confident  that  a  great  danger 
was  menacing  the  State.  Ef^vas^oo  much  exhausted  to 
reply,  at  length,  to  the  toast  in  his  honor  at  the  dinner 
table;  and  this  was  generally  regretted,  as  his  fancy  and 
exhuberant  feeling  made  his  efforts  delightful  on  such 
occasions  ;  but  other  orators  were  present  to  make  speeches 
and  offer  toasts  until  late  in  the  evening. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  deep  enjoyment  to  him  who  had 
so  long  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  popular  favor,  but  with 
his  return  to  Ellesmere,  came  the  whispers  of  that  ever 
present  spirit  asking,  'what  is  all  this  worth  ?'*  Ambition 
had  gained  its  desires ;  but  applause  and  position  must 
perish  with  the  morrow.  Even  then  the  shouts,  which 
had  gratified  him,  were  gone  with  the  dying  echoes  that 
followed,  and  he  felt  with  the  poet : 

"The  world  is  too  much  with  us.     Late  and  soon. 
Getting  and  spending  we  lay  waste  our  powers." 


f 


Ouhvard- Bound.  '327 


•CHAPTER  XVIL 

OUTWARD-BOUND. 

M  Adieu,  adieu  !  my  native  shore 
Fades  o'er  the  waters  blue; 
The  night-winds  sigh,  the  breakers  roar, 
And  shrieks  the  wild  sea-mew. 
Yon  sun  that  sets  upon  the  sea 
We  follow  in  his  flight; 
Farewell  awhile  to  him  and  thee. 
My  -natire  Land— Good  Night  t" 

—CMlde  Harol6~ 

Once  more  Christmas  had  eorae  and  gone.  Gov.  Eus- 
tace had  laid  down  his  magisterial  honors,  and  another 
filled  hie  place.  The  families  at  Ellesmere  and  Thorndale 
had  vainly  waited  the  coming  of  Rosamond ;  sudden 
illness  had  disappointed  the  hopes  which  she  and  they 
ihad  indulged.,  and  Philip  saw  with  regret  that  if  he  met 
her  at  all  before  his  departure  it  would  be  among  strang- 
ers. His  father  had  now  completed  all  his  preparations 
for  the  voyage  save  his  visit  to  the  President  for  final 
instructions  and  credentials.  Letters  had  been  received 
from  the  Secretary  of  State  urging  the  importance  of  the 
new  envoy's  early  presence  at  his  post  of  duty.  Titus 
Paine  had  -expiated  the  crimes  of  his  life  on  the  gallows  : 
meeting  death  with  stoical  indifference.  Charles  Loundes 
had  come  from  his  home  amid  the  orange  groves,  and 
was  once  more  an  exile  from  the  broad  fields  of  cotton 
sand  sugar-cane. 

Everything  was  in  readiness  for  the  departure  of  the 
family,  and  many  of  their  friends  were  paying  farewell 
visits.     Philip  loo.ked  with  melancholy  interest  on  the 


328  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

home  he  was  leaving.  Mariana  was  less  affected  than 
her  brother;  her  joy  for  years  past  having  lain  in  the 
serene  domain  of  her  own  thoughts.  The  trees  and 
embowered  walks,  the  beautiful  lawns  and  the  still  waters 
of  the  lake,  were  things  she  faintly  remembered  to  have 
seen  and  loved  in  a  time  whieh  almost  seemed  to* 
belong  to  another  existence.  Whether  she  remained 
at  Ellesmere  or  crossed  the  ocean,  her  sources  of  peace 
would  remain  undisturbed.  She  regretted  to  be  separat- 
ed from  Percival  and  Mr.  Grey,  and  the  organ  in  the 
library.  In  it  she  had  found  a  voice  and  reflection  of  her 
soul,  and  its  symphonies  were  to  her  what  sun-light  and 
nature's  ever-varying  loveliness  were  to  others.  Dimly, 
as  in  a  dream,  her  partially  restored  vision  received  ai 
Ayiight  the  outlines  of  forms  :  but  as  yet  the  soft,  glorious 
tints  and  delicate  shadings  of  the  picture  were  hidden  in 
darkness. 

Judge  Eustace  gave  his  parting  instructions  to  the  two 
overseers,  to  whose  care  the  estates  of  Ellesmere  and 
Grafton  were  to  be  left  during  his  absence.  He  fully 
appreciated  the  nature  of  his  duties  to  his  slaves- and  was 
anxious  that  his  long-established  rules  should  be  observed 
during  his  sojourn  in  Europe.. 

"You  are  both  aware,"  said  he,,  "that  I  shall  leave 
home  to-morrow.  The  period  of  n^  absence  will  depend 
upon  the  health  of  my  wife  and  granddaughter.  I  have 
yielded  to  the  suggestions  of  Dr.  Vane,  and  shall  go  abroad 
with  the  hope  of  their  restoration.  I  need  not  tell  you 
what  will  be  my  anxiety  in  thus  separating  myself  from 
my  interests  here;  but  I  have  relied  upon,  your  judgment 
and  honesty,  in  committing  so  much  to  your  charge. 
Mr.  Grey  will  remain,,  and  I  insist  that  you  both  treai, 


Outward- Bound.  329 

him  with  all  respect  due  his  sacred  calling.  He  will  in 
no  way  interfere  with  you  in  your  duties,  and  I  wish  him 
to  be  aided  in  all  that  he  shall  think  necessary  to  the 
comfort  of  the  negroes  who  may  be  sick.  My  nephew, 
Mr.  St.  George,  will  exercise  a  general  supervision,  as  I 
have  done,  and  must  of  course  receive  your  respectful 
compliance  with  his  directions.  I  shall  expect  you  to  be 
firm  and  at  the  same  time  forbearing  with  the  faults  of 
the  negroes.  If  their  offences  need  punishment,  equally 
avoid  needless  severity  and  fruitless  leniency.  Do  not 
indulge  in  useless  threats;  but  let  your  actions,  not  your 
words,  inspire  fear  of  your  resentment.  Any  weakness 
on  your  nart  will  be  readily  seen  and  made  use  of  by  the 
negroes.  He  who  drinks  with  them  or  in  any  way  sinks 
himself  to  their  level,  at  once  parts  with  his  authority. 
You  cannot  give  too  much  of  your  presence  in  the  fields 
and  barn-yards,  but  have  no  further  association  than  oc- 
casional  inspection  of  their  houses  to  see  that  they  are 
kept  clean.  Send  for  Dr.  Vane  whenever  you  have  rea- 
son to  think  they  are  sick,  and  compel  others  to  give 
them  that  attention  they  will  rarely  extend  if  left  to  the 
promptings  of  their  own  humanity." 

The  next  morning  saw  the  family  group  which  had 
clustered  so  lovingly  at  Ellesmere  en  route  for  a  distant 
destination.  Mrs.  Hewett,  the  house-keeper,  and  the  two 
bachelors  were  the  only  white  occupants  of  the  large, 
silent  building.  The  two  stag-hounds,  as  the  night  deep- 
ened, seemed  conscious  of  the  exodus,  and  frequently 
howled  their  almost  articulate  sorrow  to  the  winter  moon. 
The  cold  winds  whistled  and  sobbed  around  the  angles, 
and  darkness  as  of  the  grave  reigned  in  the  unoccupied 
rooms.     Nothing  is  more  painfully  impressive  than  the 


330  7  he  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

stillness  and  desertion  of  buildings  long  known  as  the 
haunts  of  pleasure.  The  mind  realizes  with  difficulty 
the  absence  of  beaming  eyes  and  cheerful  voices,  and  the 
hush  of  death  is  instinctively  associated  with  the  oppres- 
sive quiet.  Percival  was  accustomed  to  solitude,  as  Vau- 
cluse  had  long  ceased  to  be  a  centre  of  joy;  but  this  ab- 
sence of  the  friends  of  his  lonely  life  weighed  heavily  on 
the  heart  accustomed  to  look  to  them  for  its  only  social 
enjoyments.  The  loss  of  another  whose  unforgotten 
beauty  stole  up  in  strange  distinctness,  kept  him  silent. 
Occasionally  Mr.  Grey  had  made  overtures  of  conversa- 
tion, but  he  saw  that  the  mind  of  his  companion  was  far 
away. 

"  Mr.  Grey,"  at  length  said  Percival,  "think  you  in  the 
other  world  there  will  be  recognition  among  friends  who 
have  known  and  loved  each  other  in  this  life  ?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Grey.  "  We  are 
taught  in  the  instance  of  the  woman  who  had  seven 
brothers  as  her  husbands,  that  such  relations  should  not 
continue  to  exist;  but  this  cannot  imply  that  we  are  to 
be  oblivious  of  those  who  have  been  dear  to  us  in  the 
present  existence.  On  the  contrary,  we  are  told  that 
Dives,  though  separated  by  a  great  gulf,  recognized  afar 
off  Abraham  who  had  lived  ages  before  he  was  born  into 
the  world.  Whether  our  social  affections  survive  or 
perish,  in  the  hour  of  dissolution,  we  can  safely  trust  our 
Creator  in  a  preparation  of  bliss  for  the  redeemed,  the 
adequate  conception  of  which  surpasses  our  present  com- 
prehension. The  variety  of  innocent  and  enduring  joys 
which  await  the  devout  mind  in  this  world,  is  but  a  feeble 
earnest  of  the  supreme  felicit}7  to  be  enjoyed  in  the  life  to 
come." 


Outward- Bound.  331 

"  I  have  found,"  said  Percival,  "  more  sorrow  than  joy 
in  the  lives  I  have  known  ;  and  in  my  own  experience, 
as  I  recall  the  past,  it  seems  I  have  been  journeying  all 
my  years  through  a  wide  desert,  where  oases  have  been 
rare.  In  the  general  sum  of  my  emotions  my  blissful 
moments  have  been  to  me  as  a  few  ineffectual  stars  on  the 
bosom  of  almost  rayless  night — a  few  small  islands  of 
rest  in  a  wide  and  weary  ocean  of  toil." 

Late  into  the  long,  winter  night  sat  the  two  men  dis- 
cussing these  deep  and  mysterious  questions  of  God's 
dealing  with  bis  creatures.  Years  ago  they  were  children: 
one  a  desolate  and  friendless  orphan  in  whom  a  fearful 
disaster  had  seemingly  destroyed  the  only  chance  of  hap- 
piness in  life.  Small  promise  of  joy  remained  to  the 
little  boy,  already  steeped  in  poverty  and  deprived  of  the 
tender  oversight  of  the  mother  he  had  seen  depart  in  the 
midnight  storm  on  her  fatal  and  unavailing  mission. 
Who  was  to  teach  the  ways  of  Him  who  dwelleth  in 
thick  darkness  to  this  young  life  thus  left  alone  in  the 
world.  His  companion  had  been  born  amid  all  that  men 
consider  desirable.  The  down  of  incipient  manhood  was 
on  his  cheek,  ere  consumption  had  slowly  removed  the 
fair  and  indulgent  being  who  had  pressed  him  to  her 
bosom,  the  first  and  only  pledge  of  her  wedded  love.  The 
irrepressible  admiration  of  all  beholders  had  greeted  him 
in  the  lingering  glance  and  gentle  tones  of  affection  ;  but 
with  so  much  to  give  joy,  he  was  now  confessing  that  his 
pathway  had  lain  through  a  land  of  sorrow  and  the 
problem  of  his  own  life  shrouded  to  his  scrutiny  in  im- 
penetrable shadow.  The  wind  had  been  tempered  to  the 
shorn  lamb,  but  had  fallen  with  chilling  coldness  on  the 
warm  and  passionate  nature  of  the  child  of  wealth. 


332  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

Gov.  Eustace  and  the  family  went  by  wa}7  of  Washing- 
ton, but  Philip  left  the  party  to  take  leave  of  Rosamond. 
The  illness  which  had  prevented  her  visit  to  Thorndale 
during  the  Christmas  holidays  had  so  enfeebled  her  that 
she  was  yet  keeping  her  room  when  he  arrived  in  the 
city.  She  had  been  placed  hy  her  mother  in  the  family 
of  one  of  her  friends,  the  wife  of  an  officer  in  the  navy, 
and  the  heiress  of  Thorndale  had  in  this  way  never 
known  the  discomforts  of  a  boarding  school.  The  com- 
modore bad  been  absent  on  a  long  cruise  during  her  stay 
and  Mrs.  Leighton  was  very  limited  in  her  attentions  to 
the  mere  pleasures  of  society.  Her  daughters  were  in 
attendance  at  the  same  seminar}7  with  Rosamond,  and 
the}7  Avere  very  pleasant  to  her  who  was  now  for  the  first 
time  removed  from  the  protection  of  home  and  the  guid- 
ance of  her  mother.  Mrs.  Oourtenay  had  been  with  her 
for  some  time,  and  had  not  }ret  returned  to  St.  Kilda  Val- 
ley, much  as  she  desired  to  take  leave  of  the  family  at 
Ellesmere.  She  warmly  thanked  Philip  for  the  kindness 
of  his  visit,  and  after  some  conversation  withdrew,  wisely 
concluding  that  the  young  people  would  have  much  to 
talk  over  after  their  separation  for  the  past  eighteen 
months. 

Rosamond  was  seated  in  a  large,  carved  chair  which  so 
intercepted  the  softened  lamp-light  that  Philip  could  not 
realize  the  wonderful  development  which  had  been 
wrought  in  the  beauty  of  her  he  so  much  associated  with 
his  dreams  of  the  future.  She  was  thin  and  pale  but  her 
splendid  eyes  beamed  upon  him  with  a  love  that  banish- 
ed much  of  the  weary  languor  seen  in  them  previous  to 
his  arrival.  The  mass  of  waving  hair  was  brushed  back 
from  her  brow  and  with   the   snowy   camellias   in    the 


Outward- Bound.  333 

dim  light  the  fair  girl  seemed  almost  divine  in  her 
beauty. 

"Philip,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  cannot  tell  \ou  what  a 
relief  it  is  to  me  to  have  seen  you  before  your  depar- 
ture." 

'•  I  should  have  come  to  you,"  said  he,  "  had  we  not 
expected  you  to  be  with  us  during  the  holidays.  All  the 
while  I  was  thinking  of  the  happy  time  we  spent  two 
years  ago  when  uncle  Stanhope  was  with  us.  To  know 
that  you  were  sick  and  among  strangers  destro}red  my 
pleasure." 

"Poor  cousin  Stanhope,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  wept  long 
and  sore  when  I  heard  of  his  death.  You  have  not 
forgotten  his  anxiety  to  have  you  educated  for  a  soldier." 

"  No,  he  was  always  partial  to  me,  and  seemed  more  so 
after  my  adventure  with  the  wolf.  He  was  a  true-hearted 
man  and  met  a  death  all  soldiers  regard  as  the  happiest 
the  accidents  of  life  afford.  I  wish  he  could  have  lived 
with  us  to  old  age." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  did  not  go  to  West  Point  as  he 
desired;  you  might  some  day  have  shared  his  fate." 

"  So  I  might,  sweet  cousin,  but  many  soldiers  come  home 
after  all  their  dangers  and  hardships.  Mrs.  Leighton  and 
her  daughters  are  so  kind  to  you,  your'school  days  must 
be  very  pleasant." 

•'  These  long  absences  weigh  heavily  upon  me,"  said 
Rosamond.  My  friends  here  are  ver}'  good,  but  their 
affection  cannot  supply  that  of  my  mother.  Then  I  miss 
you,  and  Mariana,  and  the  dear  faces  at  Ellesmere  so 
much,  and  now  to  think  you  are  all  going  away  across 
the  wide,  trackless  ocean,  which  will  soon   be  rolling  its 


334  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

great  waves  between  us.  Oh !  Philip,  I  am  so  weak,  it 
makes  me  sick  at  heart  to  think  of  it." 

"  Dear  Rosamond,"  said  Philip,  "I  fear  my  visit  has 
brought  you  trouble  instead  of  the  satisfaction  my  own 
heart  feels  in  your  presence." 

"  01)  no,"  said  she,  and  the  soft  eyes  with  their  depth 
of  feeling  were  unspeakably  beautiful.  "  My  happiness 
in  being  with  you  is  only  clouded  by  the  thought  that  it 
is  the  last  time  I  may  see  you  for  years,  and  perhaps  for- 
ever. I  would  not,  if  I  could,  interfere  with  your  inten- 
tion to  visit  Europe,  but  while  you  will  be  surrounded 
by  so  much  to  absorb  the  heart  and  mind,  do  not  forget 
me  in  America,  who  will  be  thinking  of  you  all  the 
while." 

"  While  I  have  life,  sweet-heart,"  said  Philip,  "  I  shall 
never  forget  you.  I  have  so  long  pictured  you  as  my 
central  joy,  that  I  should  feel  recreant  to  the  past  and 
my  better  self  if  circumstances  could  weaken  or  destroy 
these  fondest  hopes  of  my  life." 

The  conference  was  long  and  loving,  and  when  it  was 
finished  both  hearts  felt  the  great  calm  which  confidence 
in  this  momentous  question  always  brings.  Nothing  in 
the  accidents  of  life  afford  so  deep  and  pervading  a  quiet 
to  the  restless  affections  as  the  first  full  assurance  of  re- 
quited love  in  youth.  To  Rosamond  it  was  a  glimpse 
of  Paradise,  for  she  had  for  years  past  cherished  Philip's 
image  with  all  the  strength  of  her  nature.  She  had 
always  looked  upon  him  as  the  dearest  of  playmates ;  but 
this  sentiment  had  deepened  into  a  passion,  forming  a 
source  of  joy  almost  necessary  to  her  existence.  The 
large  mirror  behind  them  had  never  reflected  two  finer 
forms.,  and  Rosamond,  as  she  leaned  back  with  half  closed 


Outward-Bound.  335 

eyes  amid  the  silken  cushions  of  the  chair,  looked  upon 
her  affianced  lover  and  compared  him  with  her  ideal  pic- 
tures of  the  heroes  of  old  romance.  She  felt  assured  in 
her  heart  that  neither  Sir  Lancelot  of  the  Lake,  nor  Sir 
Percival,  in  all  their  splendid  attire  at  the  royal  jousts, 
were  nobler  than  Philip.  Sir  Galahad  could  not  have 
shown  more  tenderness  than  she  felt  in  the  glance  of  his 
dark  eyes;  and  in  the  fleeting  moments  yet  remaining 
she  was  storing  away  in  her  memory  each  tone  and  jes- 
ture  of  the  happy  present  to  be  recalled  in  the  future. 
Oh  golden  visions  of  unreturning  youth,  who  can  hope 
to  paint  the  glory  and  depth  of  your  joy  !  The  softest 
breathing  at  evening  of  summer  airs  is  not  disturbed  in 
the  whispered  vow,  and  the  rhetoric  of  him  who  sways  a 
senate  is  not  so  eloquent  as  the  silent  pressure  of  clasped 
hands.  Oh  mystery  of  human  emotion !  wherein  con- 
cealed are  the  causes  that  clothe  the  universe  with  halos 
of  joy,  and  then  shroud  it  with  palls  of  despair  !  Oh 
wondrous  glamour !  now  everything  is  nothing  to  a 
pretty  eye-brow,  and  a  smile  contents  the  heart  which  in 
coming  years  may  weep  like  Alexander,  that  there  are 
no  more  worlds  to  conquer. 

"  Philip  remained  with  his  cousin  until  he  thought  her 
weakness  required  his  forbearance,  and,  summoning  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  amid  their  tears  and  kisses,  departed.  The 
next  day  he  rejoined  his  father  who  was  still  in  Wash- 
ington. The  President  had  long  been  the  personal  as  well 
as  political  friend  of  Gov.  Eustace,  for  they  were  at  college 
together,  and  the  intimacy  there  established  had  been 
subsequently  cemented  by  mutual  esteem  and  good  offices. 
The  influence  and  eloquence  of  the  Governor  had  largely 
contributed  to  give  the  vote  of  the  State  to  his  friend,  in 


336  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

the  great  struggle  for  the  chief  magistracy  of  the  nation; 
and  to  his  efforts  much  was  due  in  the  President's  obtain- 
ing another  high  office,  years  before,  when  they  were 
members  of  Congress.  It  was  not,  then,  with  the  formality 
usual  in  such  presentations,  that  Philip  was  introduced 
to  and  kindly  treated  by  his  father's  friend  ;  and  in  after 
years,  when  both  statesmen  were  no  more,  he  remembered 
with  gratitude  these  gentle  amenities  in  one  whose  duties 
allowed  him  so  little  time  for  their  exercise. 

The  winter  evening,  with  its  cold  wind  and  leaden  sky, 
had  arrived,  on  which  the  steamship  had  been  advertised 
to  start  for  Europe.  As  if  in  noisy  impatience  to  be  on 
her  way,  she  lay  at  the  dock  with  the  hidden  forces  bel- 
lowing through  her  escape-pipes.  Soon  the  great  wheels 
were  in  motion,  and,  in  the  pride  of  her  strength,  the 
good  ship  Baltic  turned  her  head  seaward.  Swiftly  through 
the  waters  of  the  harbor  glided  this  majestic  result  of  the 
genius  and  skill  of  foregoing  ages.  Philip  and  Charles 
Loundes  were  on  deck,  watching  the  city  as  it  gradually 
became  dim  in  the  increasing  distance.  On  they  wrent, 
through  the  narrows,  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  they 
beheld  the  ocean.  In  the  ashen,  colorless  sky,  which  was 
fast  darkening  with  coming  night,  there  were  but  few  of 
the  beauties  that  sometimes  glowT  in  the  gorgeous  and 
changing  hues  of  the  sunset.  Philip  saw  in  the  wastes  of 
water  before  him  an  instantaneous  suggestion  of  an  end- 
less eternity,  and  he  could  but  remember  that  life,  with 
its  largest  illumination,  is,  after  all,  but  a  voyage  through 
unknown  seas  ever  surging  beneath  doubtful  stars. 

There  was  but  little  roll  beyond  the  breakers ;  but  here, 
as  at  all  times,  the  din  of  the  surf  seemed  an  angry  re- 
monstrance against  the  further  progress  of  the  steamer. 


Outward- Bound.  337 

Nothing  impresses  the  imagination  with  the  mysteries 
of  creation  and  existence  like  the  deep  and  fearful  sug- 
gestions of  a  lowering  twilight  at  sea.  The  tendency  of 
most  minds  at  that  season  is,  even  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, disposed  toward  solemn  self-examination; 
and  Philip  had  never  experienced  more  vividly  such 
promptings,  of  which  nature,  and  especially  the  sea,  is  so 
full.  Ke  feit  a  depression  and  isolation  of  feeling  unac- 
countable to  him.  His  interview  with  his  cousin 
afforded  him  unalloyed  pleasure  in  its  remembrance; 
but  now,  as  he  stood  silent  in  the  increasing  gloom,  and 
looked  out  to  the  dim.  horizon  of  waters,  he  was  over- 
whelmed with  the  insignificance  of  individual  life  in  the 
aggregate  of  existence.  The  sense  of  danger,  which  so 
powerfully  increases  the  sublimity  of  such  occasions,  was 
but  a  small  element  in  this  dim  perception  of  the  infinite. 

"  Philip,"  said  Charles  Loundes,  "it  is  so  dreary  out 
here,  let  us  go  down  to  the  saloon." 

"  Wait  awhile,"  said  Philip.  c<  I  see  the  clouds  are 
passing  from  the  east,  and  we  shall  soon  have  a  cloudless 
sky  in  that  direction.  This  dark  and  troubled  appear- 
ance nature  wears  has  strangely  depressed  me,  and  I  wish 
to  see  the  moon  rise.  I  can  never  feel  so  pleasantly  in 
company  when  I  enter  its  circle  gloomy  as  this  mysterious 
sea  has  made  me.  I  know,  by  the  illumination  to  the 
right  of  the  ship's  course,  we  shall  soon  have  these  sullen 
waters  smiling  as  brightly  as  Rosamond  did  upon  me 
when  I  last  saw  her." 

"  I  have  never  seen  your  innamorata,  Philip,  but  your 
grandmother  says  she  can  smile  like  an  angel." 

"  I  would  have  invited  you  to  have  gone  with  me,  when 
I  left  the  party  to  visit  her,  but  for  her  recent  illness ; 
22 


338  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

and  you  must  recollect  the  shortness  of  the  pleasure  I 
then  enjoyed  :  so  you  can  pardon  my  desire  to  have  her 
all  to  myself." 

As  Philip  had  predicted,  the  dense  clouds  that  had 
previously  enveloped  the  ocean  rolled  slowly  away.  The 
stars  were  seen  glowing  with  all  the  more  glory  for  their 
recent  eclipse.  Up,  as  from  the  ocean,  came  the  full-orbed 
moon,  and  the  scene,  which  an  hour  ago  looked  so  full 
of  threatened  disaster,  now  sparkled  and  danced  in  the 
pervading  light.  Across  the  great  waters,  from  shore  to 
shore,  fell  that  glittering  pathway;  the  ship  sped  on  her 
way  toward  the  storied  orient,  and  as  the  night  advanced 
the  two  young  men,  who  had  been  in  the  meanwhile  in 
the  saloons  below,  returned  to  the  deck  with  Governor 
Eustace. 

The  voyage,  so  far,  had  been  delightful,  not  even  the 
ladies  had  been  troubled  with  sea-sickness ;  but  the  wind 
freshened  up,  and  upset  many  of  their  newly-formed  ideas 
of  the  pleasures  to  be  found  on  the  rolling  deep.  Wind 
and  wave  were  alike  powerless,  however,  to  stop  for  an 
instant  the  engines  to  which  hundred-armed  Briareus 
was  a  thing  of  weakness.  Swiftly  and  steady  on  her 
course,  went  the  good  ship  with  her  freight  of  life,  and 
it  was  announced  that  the  next  day,  in  case  no  accident 
occurred,  would  show  them  the  Irish  coast. 

Mariana,  though  somewhat  enfeebled,  was  still  as  beau- 
tiful as  ever,  and  the  heart  of  Charles  Loundes,  from  his 
first  beholding  her,  had  been  strangely  attracted.  Mrs. 
Eustace,  in  the  company  of  her  son,  had  been  more  lively 
than  at  any  time  since  the  death  of  Stanhope,  and  all 
were  eagerly  expectant  of  the  morrow's  incidents. 
For  the  last  two  days  the  voyage  had  been  remarkably 


Outward- Bound.  339 

pleasant  with  the  smooth  sea  and  constant  social  enjoy- 
ment. There  seems  to  be  some  peculiar  result  of  voyages 
and  travel,  which  develops  itself  when  near  the  close, 
and,  if  people  have  been  companionable  in  the  mean- 
while, is  very  apt  to  produce  strong  attachments.  It  is  a 
redeeming  feature  in  life  at  sea,  that  sailors,  who  have 
gone  around  the  world  together,  come  to  love  each  other 
as  brothers.  Companions  in  arms,  who  have  survived 
the  dangers  and  carnage  of  war,  become  strangely  attach- 
ed. It  was  something  of  this  feeling  that  gave  a  tender 
interest  to  the  occasion  in  the  heart  of  Mariana.  She 
knew  that  ere  long  Philip  and  his  friend  would  leave 
them  for  Germany,  and  she  was  more  than  usually  pen- 
sive, as  they  stood  on  deck  enjoying  the  pleasant  air 
and  the  hills  of  the  Emerald  Isle  now  full  in  view. 

Her  vision  was  not  yet  sufficiently  restored  to  afford  her 
a  full  perception  of  the  welcome  sight,  but  as  the  state  of 
the  air  and  the  mellow  light  of  evening  were  not  likely  to 
prove  injurious,  she  had  been  induced  to  leave  the  saloon 
with  the  remainder  of  the  party.  She  and  Loundeswere 
standing  apart  from  the  others,  and  his  frank  and  hand- 
some face,  instead  of  beaming  with  the  satisfaction  visible 
on  others,  seemed  really  troubled  in  its  expression.  They 
had  been  talking  on  indifferent  subjects  in  which  Mariana 
had  been  the  principal  speaker,  for  he  seemed  contented 
to  lean  over  the  railing  and  gaze  at  her. 

"  Mr.  Loundes,"  said  she,  "  you  are  so  quiet  this  even- 
ing, you  must  be  affected  by  the  neighborhood  of  the 
brave  people  who  live  on  that  unhappy  island,  who,  with 
all  their  genius  and  valor,  have  been  denied  the  gift  of 
liberty,  and  to  my  mind  so  needlessly  oppressed." 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  the  Irish  and  their  wrongs  were  not  in 


340  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

all  my  thoughts.  I  was  looking  at  you,  and  wishing  that 
this  voyage  could  be  pleasant  enough  to  you,  for  us  to 
turn  southward  and  circumnavigate  the  world  before  we 
stop.  I  am  really  troubled  at  the  prospect  of  its  being  so 
soon  ended." 

"Indeed,  we  have  had  a  charming  time,  when  the  sea 
was  not  rough  ;  and  I  too  feel  regret  that  we  cannot 
all  remain  in  the  ship  together  until  we  reach  Paris ; 
but  I  should  scarcely  be  willing  to  undertake  a  trip 
around  the  world." 

"  You  have  not  the  unspeakable  pleasure,  which  is  mine, 
of  seeing  one  to  remind  you  of  the  winged  angels  in 
Paradise ;  of  beholding  a  sweet,  thoughtful  face  that  seems 
ever  aglow  with  some  heavenly  light.  You  cannot  real- 
ize the  happiness  of  one  who  is  contented  to  look  on  the 
object  of  his  idolatry,  and  feel  that  while  it  is  wellnigh 
hopeless  to  expect  more,  she  is  yet  near  at  hand,  and  ever 
full  of  tender  consideration.  Now  we  are  so  near  the 
busy  cities  and  throngs  of  men,  I  know  that  we  shall 
speedily  separate,  and  I  beg  you  to  believe  me,  when  I 
say,  you  have  been  long  dearer  than  my  own  existence." 

"  Oh  Mr.  Loundes,  you  make  me  happy  and  sad  at  the 
same  time !  I  am  full  of  joy,  that  any  one  can  find  plea- 
sure in  my  poor  darkened  presence,  and  sad  that  you 
nourish  a  sentiment  which  experienced  in  moderation 
adds  to  our  happiness,  but  allowed  to  pass  into  extrava- 
gance is  sure  to  bring  pain  both  to  him  who  cherishes  it 
and  to  the  object  of  his  unreasonable  attachment.  Let 
me  ask  3rou,  as  the  dear  friend  that  you  are,  to  love  me 
in  the  calm  and  equable  spirit  which  should  ever  charac- 
terize those  owing  a  higher  and  holier  allegiance.  I  dis- 
like the  idea  of  losing  all  this  pretty  comfort  and  quiet 


Outward- Bound.  341 

we  have  been  enjoying  and  the  pleasure  of  constant  asso- 
ciation on  ship-board,  but  do  not  let  us  dignify  a  mere 
shadow  of  the  heart's  natural  repining,  into  a  real  and 
acknowledged  cause  of  grief." 

Charles  Loundes  looked  at  the  sinless  face,  and  knew 
that  a  full  perception  of  his  passionate  words  had  not 
reached  Mariana's  heart.  She  evidently  regarded  his 
declaration  only  as  a  protestation  of  extravagent  friend- 
ship, and  with  difficulty  he  restrained  himself  from  say- 
ing all  he  so  much  longed  to  utter.  He  was  abashed  at 
the  thought  of  analysing  the  promptings  of  his  passion  in 
the  presence  of  one  so  little  lower  than  the  angels.  With 
a  sigh  he  locked  his  secret  again  in  the  recesses  of  his 
heart,  and  accepted  the  friendship  of  her  he  so  much 
longed  to  make  his  bride.  With  all  his  love  and  delicate 
attention,  she  had  never  regarded  him  as  her  lover;  so 
with  resolute  patience  and  but  slight  hope  of  eventual 
success,  he  determined  to  wait  for  future  developments. 

There  was  but  little  time  given  to  their  enjoyment  of 
the  scenery  and  historical  attractions  of  England.  A 
few  days  were  spent  in  London,  and  then,  as  fast  as  steam 
could  carry  them,  traveled  the  envoy  and  his  party  to 
their  destination — the  center  and  focus  of  civiliza- 
tion, the  gay  capital  of  the  world.  Paris,  which  has  been 
wittily  said  to  be  very  near  heaven  and  next  door  to  hell, 
was  at  length  reached,  and  they  all  were  charmed  with 
the  elegance  and  grace  so  lavishly  scattered  around.  The 
throngs  along  the  Boulevardes,  and  the  brilliant  gas- 
lights at  night,  made  it  more  like  a  fairy  scene  than  a 
reality. 

To  Philip  the  world's  metropolis  was  full  of  subjects 
for  new  thought-     He  had  been  reared  in  the  quiet  valley 


342  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

of  St.  Kilda,  where  the  river-side  hills  with  their  tall 
back  ground  of  blue  mountains  constituted  the  scenery 
he  had  known  and  loved.  The  quiet  of  the  woods,  and 
the  voiceless  charm  of  still  lakes,  had  fed  his  taste,  until 
he  passionately  enjoyed  the  beauty  and  repose  of  nature. 
These  old  scenes  were  not  forgotten,  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
thronged  streets,  but  his  chief  pleasures  now  were  found 
amid  the  lavish  adornments  of  Versailles  and  Fontain- 
bleau,  where  he  sometimes  wandered  in  the  midst  of 
beauties,  the  creation  of  which  had  resulted  in  such  woe 
to  France. 

Gov.  Eustace  was  living  in  Place  Vendome,  and  the 
family  soon  settled  into  something  of  home-feeling,  amid 
the  splendors  of  the  French  hotel  they  inhabited.  The 
envoy  devoted  all  the  time  he  could  spare  from  the  duties 
of  his  mission  to  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  his  mother 
and  daughter,  and  his  efforts  were  crowned  with  the  in- 
creased health  of  both.  Mrs.  Eustace  could  not  forget 
her  son  sleeping  in  his  far-distant  grave,  and  had  lost 
much  of  her  sunny  disposition,  but  was  still  cheerful  and 
pleasant.  The  oculists,  after  a  careful  examination  of 
Mariana's  eyes,  were  confident  of  their  complete  restora- 
tion. 

Philip  Eustace  and  Charles  Loundes  were  soon  quietly 
pursuing  their  studies  at  a  German  university.  Both  had 
learned  the  language  before  attempting  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  advantages  there  afforded.  Before  their  de- 
parture, Loundes  had  often  been  with  Mariana  and  wished 
to  tell  her  all  he  felt,  but  as  yet  he  despaired  of  success. 
They  went  a  portion  of  the  way  along  the  beautiful 
Rhine;  and  but  for  the  ruins  of  the  old  castles  perched 
upon  the  hill-tops,  Philip  could  have  almost  imagined 
he  was  again  among  his  native  mountains. 


Neiv  iaces.  343 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

NEW    FACES. 

"  O  my  good  Gonzalo, 
My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  sir, 

I  will  pay  thy  graces 

Home,  both  in  word  and  deecL" 

— Tempest. 

T^o  people  in  the  world  equal  the  Germans  in  their 
understanding  and  appreciation  of  the  true  comforts  of 
life.  There  is,  perhaps,  more  genius  in  Italy,  and  cer- 
tainly more  wit  among  the  French ;  but  mankind  are 
largely  indebted  to  the  Fatherland  for  many  other  bene- 
fits beyond  the  production  of  Martin  Luther  and  the  art 
of  printing.  There  is  scarcely  a  department  of  human 
excellence  in  which  German)7  has  not  illustrious  instances 
of  successful  cultivation  ;  and  in  real  research  and  acquire- 
ment they  are,  without  exception,  the  foremost  people 
in  all  the  living  world.  In  their  university  training  they 
have  equaled  and  surpassed  the  advantages  afforded  even 
the  ancient  Athenian  youth.  No  philosopher  has  lived 
in  the  last  century  more  profound  and  original  than  Kant, 
and  in  poetry  Goethe  and  Schiller  have  equalled  the 
proudest,  while  Jean  Paul  has  traversed  the  enchanted 
boundaries  hitherto  separating  the  realms  of  poesy  and 
philosophy.  In  historical  research  they  have  created  a 
system  under  which  the  myths  of  profane  ston7  have  been 
-so  scrutinized  that  admiration  has  been  earned  from  all 
men.  But  this  analysis,  which  has  eliminated  truth  and 
discarded  the  fables  from  the  recorded  traditions  of  an- 
cient days,  has  not   been   content   with  this   eclecticism 


344  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kildcu. 

among  the  mythological  dreams  of  the  poets ;  it  has  ex- 
tended its  unhallowed  touch  to  those  awful  and  hidden 
mysteries  of  revelation,  and  become  skeptical  to  every- 
thing which  does  not  conform  to  human  probability. 

Living  in  the  midst  of  this  cultivated  people,,  the  twTo> 
young  Americans  found  an  abundance  of  amusement 
and  instruction.  The  quaint,  old  city  in  which  their 
university  was  situated,  with  its-  olden  associations  and 
habits,  was  full  of  unfailing  interest ;  and  the  castle- 
crowned  hills  surrounding  it  were  to  Philip  like  the  faces 
of  dear  friends.  Fair  landscapes  on  ever}7  side  were  stud- 
ded  wTith  hamlets  and  with  frequent  remains  of  the  feudal 
ages,  in  the  romantic  and  ivy  clad  walls  of  ancient  strong- 
holds. 

On  one  of  the  eminences  in  the  citv  stood  the  house  of 
Counsellor  Strauss,  the  friend  in  whose  home  the  pleasant 
student-days  of  Arthur  Kean  had  been  passed.  His  two 
friends,  at  his  request,  were  ins-tailed  in  his  former  apart- 
ments, and  from  tall  windows  they  looked  over  the  city 
at  their  pleasure.  A  host  of  memories  of  the  past  were 
connected  with  that  little  sea  of  gables  What  days  of 
busy  toil  and  traffic,  and  what  pleasant  nights  of  gaiety 
and  song,  had  it  known  t  What  times  of  oppression  and 
wrong  had  it  experienced  in  those  long  vanished  eras,, 
when  the  wishes  of  iron  hearted  burggraves  were  the  law 
of  the  land!  Many  traditions,  dim  with  the  centu- 
ries they  had  survived,  still  haunted  the  great  tower,  and 
seemed  as  black  to  modern  view  as  the  noisy  rooks  clam- 
oring around  its  summit.  The  grave,  beer-drinking 
burghers  pointed  to  the  marks  of  cannon  shot  made  by 
an  angry  kaiser  who  was  balked  in  his  fury  by  the  stout- 
hearted supporters  of  a  rebellious  kurfurst;,  and  further 


New  Faces.  345 

on  the  trace  of  an  old  breach  in  the  wall  was  exhibited, 
which  would  have  given  the  city  over  to  the  horrors 
shortly  before  endured  at  Magdeburg,  had  not  Gustavus 
and  his  Swedes  arrived  that  very  evening,  and  forced  the 
enemy  to  withdraw. 

The  beautiful  creations  of  art  were  so  abundant  that 
even  in  the  busy  haunts  of  trade  elaborate  fountains 
were  to  be  seen,  rich  in  the  unfading  glory  of  sculpture. 
Huge,  iron-bound  linden  trees,  some  planted  by  ancient 
queens,  still  bravely  withstood  the  storms  which  swept 
from  the  mountains  in  the  distance.  Effigies  of  mediae- 
val prelates  surmounted  the  cathedral  doors,  as  if  guard- 
ing the  marble  hosts  asleep  within,  and  basking  in  the 
eorseons  tints  of  stained  windows.  Cherubs  and  satyrs 
gazed  with  their  eyes  of  stone,  and  seemed  eloquent  with 
the  truth  that  human  life  is  ever  compounded  of  good 
and  evil. 

The  city  had  known  many  vicissitudes  in  the  course  of 
its  history — sometimes  the  residence  and  capital  of 
mighty  princes,  and  then  relapsing  to  the  smaller  dig- 
nity of  a  provincial  town.  At  intervals,  the  Kaiser  him- 
self had  held  his  court  there;  but  the  memories  of  all  its 
potentates  and  councils  were  but  insignificant  shadows 
of  the  past,  and  its  chief  glory  survived  in  the  names 
of  the  poets  and  artists  who  had  loved  the  place  of 
their  birth,  and  still  lived  in  the  deathless  works  of  their 
hands. 

Counsellor  Strauss  was  prosperous  in  his  affairs,  and 
lived  a  busy,  pleasant  life.  He  had  been  absorbed  in 
business  in  his  youth  ;  but  now  that  he  saw  his  children 
growing  up  to  maturity,  and  he  was  getting  to  be  an  old 
man,  he  held  in  virtue  thereof,  that  he  was  entitled  to> 


346  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

relaxation  when  official  duty  permitted.  His  residence 
was  a  stone  building,  and  had  been  previous  to  the  Re- 
formation part  of  a  monastic  institutiion  ;  the  forefathers 
of  the  present  proprietor  having  inhabited  it  for  many- 
generations.  The  family,  in  whose  increase  he  felt  he 
was  becoming  such  a  patriarch,  consisted  of  a  son  and  two 
daughters.  Their  mother  had  been  dead  for  years,  but 
the  widower  concluded  that  his  peace  of  mind  and  that 
of  his  household  were  of  too  much  importance  to  be  en- 
dangered by  the  introduction  of  a  step-mother  for  his 
children :  so  M.  Strauss,  though  he  was  admired  and 
caressed  by  a  large  "portion  of  marriageable  ladies  of  his 
acquaintance,  continued  obstinately  blind  to  their  charms 
and  content  with  the  comfort  he  found  at  his  own  fire- 
side, and  in  the  opera-house  hard  by.  In  the  shade  of  a 
tree  which  grew  in  the  court  of  his  establishment,  the 
counsellor  entertained  his  friends  on  summer  evenings, 
and  in  the  flowing  moonlight  and  music  quaffed  his 
wine  and  blest  his  propitious  stars,  that  their  radiance 
should  have  hitherto  rested  upon  him  with  such  slight 
interruptions.  He  was  a  pleasant-looking  man,  of  medium 
size;  while  his  daughters  Ernestine  and  Sophie  were 
pretty,  rosy-cheeked  damsels,  always  ready  to  spend  the 
larger  portion  of  the  night  in  flirtations  and  the  swift 
movements  of  German  dances.  Gustave,  the  brother,  had 
been  educated  to  succeed  his  father  in  the  traditional 
calling  of  his  family,  which  for  ages  had  seen  one  of  each 
generation  a  counsellor. 

The  geniality  and  kindness  of  these  new  friends  soon 
made  the  home  of  the  two  students  full  of  pleasure.  Just 
opposite  to  wdiere  they  lived,  dwelt  a  large  family  of 
Jagerndorfs,  which  after  a  long  series  of  brothers  and  sist- 


New  Faces.  347 

ers  wound  up  the  roll  with  a  large-headed,  long-armed 
dwarf,  named  Sigismund.  The  counsellor  managed  to 
keep  on  the  amiable  side  of  this  little  monster,  and  was 
sometimes  sent  for  to  induce  him  to  abandon  an  obstin- 
ately maintained  position  astride  the  weather-cock. 

Philip  had  received  as  a  present  from  his  father,  two 
superb  English  thoroughbred  horses  which  he  kept  in 
the  same  stable  with  counsellor  Strauss'  span  of  Flanders 
mares,  with  which  that  dignitary,  together  with  his 
daughters,  sometimes  went  in  state  to  their  possessions 
beyond  the  city  limits.  If  Anne  of  Cleves  in  any  way 
resembled  those  great,  spiritless  brutes,  Henry  VIII.  was 
somewhat  excusable  in  refusing  her  as  his  bride.  With 
the  clean-limbed,  fiery  barbs,  the  two  Americans  some- 
times made  excursions  into  the  country,  enrapturing 
Sigismund  Jagerndorf  with  the  lofty  movements  of  their 
horses,  and  transferring  a  large  portion  of  his  admiration 
of  the  animals  to  their  owner.  Philip  pitied,  the  urchin 
who  so  eagerly  greeted  his  coming,  and  he  soon  became 
a  pet  of  both  students.  Nature  had  compensated  the 
dwarf's  feeble  lower  extremities  by  a  prodigious  develop- 
ment of  his  chest  and  arms.  His  head  was  frightfully 
large,  and  his  mouth  would  have  graced  the  most  savage 
of  the  carnivora. 

This  new  life  in  a  strange  land  was  full  of  promptings 
to  thought  in  Philip.  His  love  of  the  beautiful  in  the 
arts  was  gratified  in  the 'countless  paintings  and  sculp- 
tures he  saw,  and  his  appreciation  of  those  things  not 
merely  useful  was  so  different  from  the  usual  character- 
istics of  his  countrvmen,  he  almost  felt  translated  to 
another  sphere  of  existence.  The  weary  laborers,  as  they 
walked  in  the  twilight  from  their  work  in  the  fields,  made 


348  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

the  air  musical  with  deathless  hymns  or  songs  of  patriot- 
ism ;  and  the  city  artisans,  with  full  voices  reproduced 
the  grand  harmonies  they  had  listened  to  the  night  be- 
fore at  the  opeia-house.  Philip  felt  in  his  heart  that 
whatever  errors  there  might  be  in  the  theology  of  such  a 
people,  the  all-absorbing  worship  of  mammon,  at  least, 
had  not  removed  from  their  view  the  cheerful  and  half 
religious  love  of  the  beautiful.  One  evening,  in  the 
pleasant  light  of  the  declining  sun,  he  was  riding  alone 
along  the  road  in  sight  of  a  fine  old  castle  still  partly 
inhabited  by  the  Schulemburg  family.  The  vintage  was 
at  its  height,  and  the  odor  of  ripe  graphs  pervaded  the 
air.  The  soft  autumn  atmosphere  was  deliciously  sooth- 
ing, and  the  young  student  was  thinking  of  her  who  had 
been  much  in  his  mind  since  their  last  interview  previ- 
ous to  his  departure  from  America.  The  pure  white  brow, 
so  blanched  and  transparent  in  the  shaded  light  of  that 
evening,  he  had  endeavored  to  picture  to  himself  in  its 
matured  beauty,  when  health  and  happiness  had  restored 
its  roseate  bloom.  The  effort  was  wholly  unsatisfactory, 
for  in  the  uncertain  light  in  which  he  had  seen  her,  he 
was  unable  to  amplify  and  define  the  mental  image  to 
his  wish. 

He  noticed  the  beautiful  figure  of  a  lady  on  horse-back 
enter  the  road  from  the  grounds  surrounding  Schulem- 
burg castle.  She  was  followed  by  a  groom  riding  a  little 
distance  in  the  rear;  and  Philip  saw  at  a  glance  that 
horsemanship  was  a  thing  but  little  known  to  him.  He 
was  evidently  ill  at  ease  on  the  impatient  animal,  whose 
temper  was  only  aggravated  by  his  awkward  attempts  at 
conciliation.  The  horses  of  the  young  lady  and  her  at- 
tendant were  far  inferior  to   his  English  steeds,  but  were 


New  Faces.  349 

the  finest  of  the  German  breed  Philip  had  seen,  and  his 
interest  in  them  and  the  trim,  graceful  figure  of  the  fair 
rider,  drew  much  of  his  attention,  as  he  restrained  the 
impatience  of  Hamlet,  who  was  unwilling  to  follow  when 
others  led.  The  groom  was  evidently  growing  more  un- 
easy at  every  movement  of  his  horse,  which,  happening 
to  pass  a  heavily-loaded  hay  wagon,  with  a  sudden  start? 
fairly  dislodged  the  rider,  and  with  a  snort  of  triumph 
sped  forward  in  pursuit  of  the  fair  equestrian.  The  rush 
of  the  riderless  steed  from  behind  at  once  started  the 
spirited  animal  she  was  riding,  and  from  her  fruitless 
efforts  Philip  saw  that  she  was  unable  to  check  the  head- 
long speed  with  which  she  was  being  borne  along.  He 
gave  rein  to  his  Horse,  which  speedily  narrowed  the  dis- 
tance between  him  and  the  fugitives;  but  he  was  doubt- 
ful of  the  result  of  his  attempting  to  run  down  the  one 
the  lady  was  riding,  for  fear  a  sudden  start  might  unseat 
her. 

By  this  time  she  looked  back,  and  uttered  an  implor- 
ing cry  for  help,  for  she  well  knew  a  dangerous  curve  and 
descent  a  mile  ahead  made  it  necessary  that  she  should 
be  rescued  before  reaching  that  point.  Bui;  the  fifty  yards 
still  intervening  would  require  fierce  riding  to  be  over- 
come in  that  distance,  and  as  Philip  had  never  fully 
tested  the  speed  of  the  powerful  animal  he  was  riding,  he 
was  by  no  means  certain  the  feat  could  be  accomplished. 
As  he  pressed  both  spurs  fully  home  into  the  tender  sides 
of  his  horse,  he  felt  the  mighty  frame  spring  forward,  as 
if  the  previous  gait  had  been  but  child's  play.  The  size 
of  the  rider  would  have  been  a  serious  drawback  to  most 
horses,  but  Hamlet's  prodigious  power  was  equal  to  any 
emergency ;  for  he  had  been  selected  with  a  view  to  the 


350  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

weight  be  would  have  to  carry,  and  most  fully  did  he 
answer  every  expectation.  In  less  than  three-fourths  of 
a  mile,  he  was  alongside  of  the  flying  horses,  and  the 
next  instant  Philip  had  grasped  the  reins  still  bravely 
maintained  by  the  trembling  beauty.  With  gradual  re- 
straint, lest  the  lady  should  be  thrown,  the  wild  career 
was  surely  and  steadily  moderated,  until,  at  an  order  from 
his  master,  Hamlet  stood  still.  The  presence  of  mind, 
which  the  sense  of  her  situation  had  hitherto  forced  upon 
the  beautiful  girl,  now  forsook  her  entirely,  as  she  looked 
forward  and  saw  the  hill-side  she  feared.  The  sunny  head, 
with  its  golden  curls,  drooped,  and  she  became  totally 
unconscious.  Philip  with  one  hand  held  the  horses,  and 
with  the  other  sustained  the  helpless  form  of  the  fainting 
maiden. 

He  looked  into  her  face  as  it  rested  on  his  arm,  and  was 
filled  with  admiration  at  the  perfection  of  its  lines.  Her 
e}res  were  of  that  rich,  deep  blue  which  so  completely 
finish  the  contrast  of  colors  in  the  radiance  of  a  full 
blonde.  The  lustrous  hair  waved  over  a  brow  rivalling 
the  lily  in  purity,  and  the  rich,  warm  lips  pallid  in  syn- 
cope, when  Philip  first  beheld  them,  recovered  their 
bloom,  as  the  queen -like  being  resumed  her  erect  position 
in  the  saddle. 

"  How  can  I  ever  hope  to  thank  you  enough,  sir,  for 
this  timely  aid?"  said  she  in  French,  and  a  blush  over-_ 
spread  her  features,  as  the  position  to  which  her  helpless- 
ness had  reduced  her  became  fully  realized. 

"  I  beg  you  to  feel  under  no  obligations,"  said  Philip. 
"  My  satisfaction  at  your  safety  more  than  compensates 
for  any  efforts  in  your  behalf." 


New  Faces.  351 


57 


*'  0  do  not  think  I  can  so  forget  my  name  and  duty  as 
to  undervalue  the  great  service  you  have  rendered  me. 

Philip  saw  the  necessity  of  his  escorting  the  countess 
home,  for  the  fiery  animal  his  strong  arm  had  arrested 
in  flight  was  still  unsubdued,  and  needed  other  restraint 
than  that  of  the  fair  rider.  Through  the  mellow  light  of 
the  autumn  evening  they  rode  back  to  the  ancient  palace 
of  the  Counts  of  Schulemberg,  the  title  of  which,  by  the 
death  of  her  father,  had  descended  to  young  Theresa. 
Some  of  the  most  important  seigniories  which  had  long 
been  attached  to  the  proud  house  had  by  reason  of  the 
Salic  rule  of  succession,  lapsed  to  the  Baron  Waldemar  of 
Keiningheim,  her  father's  younger  brother.  He  was  a 
bachelor,  and  spent  a  greater  portion  of  his  time  with  his 
niece.  In  early  life  he  had  been  a  soldier,  and  had  served 
with  credit  under  Blucher  and  other  German  command- 
ers. He  participated  in  the  disasters  of  the  double  defeat 
at  Jena  and  Auerstadt,  but  was  avenged,  and  lost  his  arm 
at  Waterloo. 

The  beautiful  grounds  and  vast  size  of  the  castle  were 
observed  by  Philip.  He  noticed  that  a  portion  of  the 
establishment  was  uninhabited  and  ruinous.  The  eastern 
wing  was  a  palace  within  itself,  and  presented  many  evi- 
dences of  wealth  and  elegance.  They  dismounted,  and 
Philip  accompanied  the  countess  through  a  host  of  do- 
mestics; and,  having  traversed  several  apartments  full  of 
splendor  and  modern  comfort,  they  found  the  Baron 
Waldemar.  He  warmly  thanked  Philip  for  his  opportune 
services,  and  expressed  astonishment  that  the  countess 
should  have  ventured  out  with  an  attendant  so  ignorant 
of  the  management  of  horses.  She  told  him  that  one 
groom  had  been  sent  to  the  city;  another  was  sick;  and 


352  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kildu. 

thinking  there  was  no  danger  in  a  short  excursion,  she 
had  gone  forth  thus  poorly  attended. 

Philip  returned  to  the  city.  It  was  nearly  dark  as  he 
passed  along  the  streets,  and,  being  occupied  with  thoughts 
of  his  recent  ad  venture,  did  not  observe  Sigismund  Jagern- 
dorf  hanging  by  one  hand  to  the  projecting  balustrade  in 
front  of  his  father's  house;  but  the  antics  of  the  dwarf 
were  a  source  of  terror  to  his  horse.  Philip,  to  correct 
this  foolish  dread  of  what  could  really  do  him  no  harm, 
forced  the  animal  close  under  the  uncouth  figure,  when 
Sigismund,  with  the  agility  of  a  monkey,  loosing  his  hold, 
alighted  behind  the  saddle.  This  was  more  than  Hamlet 
could  withstand,  and  he  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  of 
mingled  fear  and  rage.  Many  of  the  burghers  witnessed 
the  scene,  and  as  horsemanship  was  no  part  of  their  ac- 
complishments, they  certainly  expected  to  see  both  of  the 
riders  thrown.  But  they  knew  little  of  the  firm  seat  and 
muscular  power  of  Philip,  and  nothing  was  surer  than 
while  he  kept  his  place  the  dwarf  was  not  to  be  shaken 
off.  The  horse  was  soon  subdued,  but  ever  afterward 
manifested  the  utmost  abhorrence  and  fear  at  the  approach 
of  his  singular  foe.  The  half-witted  creature  laughed  at 
Philip's  remonstrance,  for  fear  of  bodily  injury  had  no 
place  in  his  thoughts. 

Philip  had  been  anxious  to  return  from  the  castle  to 
witness  the  production  of  a  German  translation  of  Shak- 
speare's  masterpiece,  for  he  had  agreed  to  go  to  the  theatre 
with  the  family  of  Counsellor  Strauss  that  night.  He 
had  often  admired  its  beauties  by  the  fireside,  but  had 
never  seen  it  represented  on  the  stage.  The  great  drama 
lost  many  of  its  exquisite  beauties  in  its  change  of  lan- 
guage, but  preserved  enough  of  its  vigor  to  enchain  the 


New  Faces.  353 

attention  of  the  audience,  as  they  listened  to  the  majestic 
utterances  of  him  whose  genius  was  for  the  world  and  all 
time.  Sophie  was  seated  by  Philip,  and  was  awe-stricken 
as  the  ghost  glided  upon  the  stage.  She  wept  at  the 
madness  of  Ophelia,  and  was  indignant  at  Hamlet's  re- 
proaches of  her  own  sex. 

Ludwig  Jagerndorf,  the  oldest  of  Sigismund's  brothers, 
was  present,  and  was  becoming,  a  fast  friend  of  the  two 
Americans,  who  could  but  admire  his  genius  as  an  artist. 
He  was  connected  with  the  university  where  he  labored 
to  increase  the  funds  realized  from  his  paintings,  in  order 
that  he  might  visit  Rome  and  Florence  to  study  the 
Italian  masters.  Ludwig  was  enchanted  with  the  play 
and  when  it  was  over  went  home  with  his  friends.  After 
the  three  young  men  had  seated  themselves  to  the  enjo}r- 
ment  of  their  pipes  and  beer,  Philip  related  his  evening's 
adventure  with  the  countess  of  Schulemberg. 

"  She  is  the  greatest  beauty  and  the  richest  heiress  in 
all  this  principality,"  said  Ludwig,  "  and  has  shone  the 
star  of  Baden  Baden  and  other  spas,  for  the  two  last 
seasons.  It  is  said  that  the  Baron  Waldemar,  though  her 
guardian,  has  never  attempted  to  induce  her  to  accept 
any  of  the  many  offers  of  marriage  which  have  been 
tendered  by  nobles  of  different  lands." 

"  He  has  never  married  himself,"  said  Philip,  "and  it 
may  be  his  own  indifference  to  the  nuptial  tie  is  the  secret 
of  his  forbearance  toward  his  niece." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ludwig,  "  I  am  persuaded  some  such  feel- 
ing of  consistency  restrains  him,  for  he  knows,  in  the 
event  of  her  dying  childless,  the  titles  of  Schulemberg 
and  Keiningheim  will  both  lapse  to  the  Grand  Duke." 

"  Philip,"  said  Charles  Loundes,  "  you  are  always  hap- 
23 


354  Ihe  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

pening  to  some  such  good  luck  as  this.  Had  I  foregone 
my  evening's  flirtation  with  pretty  Ernestine,  I  should 
have  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  this  great  beauty  you 
and  M.  Ludwig  are  making  me  crazy  to  see." 

"  One  of  my  pictures,"  said  Jagerndorff,  "  illustrates  a 
wild  story  connected  with  that  old  castle  of  Schulemberg. 
There  was  a  spectre-lover,  said  to  have  haunted  the 
northern  portion  now  in  ruins,  to  whom  one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  house  had  plighted  her  hand  on  the  eve 
of  his  departure  for  the  siege  of  Belgrade,  under  Prince 
Eugene  of  Savoy.  She  had  promised  to  be  his  in  life 
and  death,  but  when  she  heard  he  was  slain  by  the  infidel 
Turk  she  forgot  her  vows  and  wedded  another.  In  the 
midst  of  the  feastings,  the  pale  figure  of  him  who  had 
died  in  the  Paynim  trenches  returned,  and  though  invis- 
ible to  others  was  recognized  by  the  bride.  He  steadily 
regarded  her,  and  lifting  his  helmet  exhibited  the  marks 
where  the  fatal  scimetar  had  severed  his  head.  He  dis- 
appeared from  the  revel,  but  each  evening  returned,  and 
beckoning  to  the  false  one  slowly  withdrew,  until  after 
many  visits,  she  was  so  maddened  by  conscience  she  fol- 
lowed and  ,was  never  heard  of  more.  We  laugh  at  such 
stories  now,  but  fifty  years  ago  they  were  a  portion  of  our 
creed  in  this  part  of  the  world." 

"What  new  light  has  come  to  you,"  said  Loundes, 
"that  was  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  your  forefathers?  Is 
there  any  reason  that  you  disbelieve  in  the  manifesta- 
tions of  the  supernatural,  beyond  the  fact  that  you  have 
not  seen  the  evidences  upon  which  the  ancient  belief 
rested  ?" 

"  Every  person  of  intelligence   now  laughs  at  ghost 


New  Faces.  355 

stories,"  said  Jagerndorf.   "  You  surely  have  no  confidence 
in  the  old  wives'  fables." 

"  Suppose,"  said  Loundes,  "we  strip  this  subject  of  its 
ludicrous  aspects,  and  look  at  it  seriously  and  reasonably. 
You  admit  there  is  an  existence  after  death,  and,  with  all 
mankind,  feel  in  spite  of  your  skepticism,  that  there  is  a 
conformity  with  the  course  of  probability  in  the  play  we 
have  been  witnessing  to-night.  If  this  were  not  the  case 
the  whole  plot  of  the  great  dramatist  would  be  a  tissue  of 
folly.  If  we  fully  believed  the  dead  king  could  not,  under 
any  circumstances,  have  communicated  with  his  living 
son,  we  should  be  incontrollably  disgusted  at  the  recital 
of  a  foolish  and  impossible  absurdity.  The  human  mind 
in  all  preceding  ages  has  instinctively  recognized  this 
life  after  death,  and  the  possibility  of  communication  of 
the  dead  under  certain  circumstances  with  those  living 
This  mysterious  affinity  between  life  and  death  is  termed 
the  supernatural,  but  is  it  after  all  anything  more  than  a 
legitimate  development  of  nature  itself?  If  the  same  law 
of  existence  which  controls  us  in  life,  preserves  our  im- 
perishable spirits  after  death,  what  is  it  more  than  a  con- 
tinuance of  those  causes  and  effects  that  we  call  nature? 
We  hold  there  is  a  prolongation  of  the  soul's  existence, 
after  the  fact  of  physical  dissolution,  but  we  know  noth- 
ing of  the  limits  imposed  by  the  laws  which  control  the 
disembodied  spirit." 

"  No,"  said  Jagerndorf,  "  some  confine  it  in  purgatory,, 
like  dead  Hamlet  to-night  declared  : 

''To  fast  in  fires, 
Till  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  my  days  of  nature, 
Are  burned  and  purged  away." 


356  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

And  others  say  frankly,  they  have  no  information  on 
the  subject." 

"  Well,"  continued  Loundes,  "  you  are  then  forced  to 
the  conclusion  that,  after  admitting  there  is  a  continuance 
of  spiritual  existence,  there  is  no  evidence  to  indicate  the 
conditions  of  that  state,  how  then  can  you  assert  that  one 
of  the  most  enduring  convictions,  which  finds  no  conflict 
with  probability,  is  after  all  unreasonable." 

"  Because,"  said  Jiigerndorf,  "  we  do  not  see  such  phan- 
toms without  sufficient  grounds  for  the  belief  that  they 
are  only  optical  delusions  and  the  creatures  of  excited 
imaginations." 

"You  reason,"  said  Loundes,  "like  the  king  of  Siam, 
when  told  by  the  Dutch  minister  that  the  rivers  and 
lakes  of  his  country  became  so  hard  in  winter  that  men 
could  walk  upon  them.  The  Asiatic  prince,  living  in 
the  tropics  with  no  knowledge  of  northern  latitudes, 
laughed  him  to  scorn,  and  deemed  the  whole  story  a 
pure  fabrication,  because  it  violated  his  knowledge  of 
natural  habits.  I  believe  the  rarity  of  supernatural  ap- 
pearances is  a  mercy  of  Providence,  for  the  human  mind 
is  oppressed  and  awed  to  such  a  degree  in  the  realization 
of  such  a  presence,  that  life  would  become  insupportable 
were  men  brought  in  frequent  contact  with  what  they 
believed  to  be  the  spirits  of  the  dead.  We  feel  awe  in  the 
presence  of  the  corpse  of  a  little  child,  and  I  believe  this 
sensation  is  the  result  of  the  soul's  recognition  that  the 
dead  have  entered  upon  a  higher  stage  of  existence." 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  ghost  stories,"  said  Jiigerndorf, 
"  but  I  confess  I  have  enough  superstition  in  my  nature 
to  relish  their  recital,  and  to  feel  a  little  tremulous  some- 
times at  night,  when  alone  I  have  been  startled  by  things 


New  Faces.  357 

for  which  I  was  unable  to  account.  I  suppose,  however,  this 
weakness  is  due  to  early  education  in  the  nurseiy  where 
all  children  hear  those  wild  legends  which  have  been 
transmitted  from  other  ages." 

"It  seems  strange  to  me,"  said  Loundcs,  'Mo  hear  you 
confessing  this,  when  all  the  lessons  of  your  training  and 
reason  combat  such  a  belief.  Do  you  suppose  the  Creator 
would  have  formed  men  with  this  pervading  and  irre- 
pressible conviction  that  there  is  a  possibility  of  some 
dreadful  apparition  coming  forth  from  the  womb  of  mys* 
terious  night,  unless  there  was  a  solemn  reality  to  sanc- 
tion the  sentiment?  Can  the  wisdom  and  teachings  of 
education  amount  to  so  little  as  to  leave  us  to  a  miserable 
deception  of  the  imagination  which  you  instance  as  the 
source  of  sensations  you  are  powerless  to  escape?  There 
is  no  such  incongruity  in  the  natural  economy,  as  this 
wasteful  creation  of  a  great  leading  emotion  among  men, 
after  all  amounting  to  nothing  when  examined  in  its 
inner  significance.  There  must  be  some  corresponding 
reality  in  the  realm  of  possibilities,  to  justify  and  account 
for  such  wide-spread  and  lasting  convictions  among 
men." 

"  I  think,"  said  Philip,  "  that  it  is  unreasonable  to  deny 
the  probability  of  such  things,  simply  because  we  have 
not  seen  or  heard  them,  while  other  men  may  have  done 
so." 

The  next  day  a  showy  equipage  stopped  in  front  of 
Counsellor  Strauss'  office,  and  the  countess  of  Schulem- 
berg,  for  the  first  time  in  several  months,  called  on  him 
whose  professional  aid  was  frequently  given  to  the  young 
mistress  of  the  ancient  barony.  The  business  concerns, 
which   were   apparently  the  occasion  of  her  visit,  were 


358  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

discussed  to  her  satisfaction,  and  she  had  arisen  to  return 
to  her  carriage,  when  she  paused  and  remarked  : 

"  You  have  two  j'oung  gentlemen  from  America  living 
at  your  house,  M.  Strauss.  I  saw  one  of  them  yesterday 
evening,  and  his  aid  was  so  valuable  in  a  serious  emer- 
gency, I  have  invited  him  to  visit  me  at  my  place.  Will 
you  please  tell  me  who  Mr.  Eustace  is?" 

"  He  is  the  son  of  the  American  embassador  at  Paris, 
and  comes  recommended  to  me  by  those  in  whom  I  can 
place  implicit  cpnfidence,  as  a  gentleman.  His  ancestors 
have  long  been  eminent  among  the  wealthiest  and  most 
talented  of  the  Americans,  and  I  think  him  worthy  of  his 
lineage." 

The  countess  seemed  satisfied  with  this  information, 
and  at  once  passed  to  her  carriage.  She  was  much  pleased 
with  the  politeness  of  the  American  stranger,  and  the 
counsellor's  commendations  increased  her  interest.  The 
coolness  and  grace  of  his  bearing  in  the  embarrassing 
circumstances  of  their  first  meeting,  added  to  her  grati- 
tude, created  a  strong  desire  to  see  him  again.  She  knew 
from  the  costly  simplicity  of  his  attire  and  the  self-pos- 
session of  his  manner,  that  he  had  been  differently  bred 
from  some  of  his  countrymen  at  whose  mingled  assurance 
and  bashfulness  she  was  often  amused  in  Baden  Baden. 
Although  she  had  rejected  many  suitors,  there  was  no 
beauty  in  Europe  who  more  highly  appreciated  the  ad- 
miration her  charms  excited ;  and  the  pleasure  she  thus 
received  was  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  her  remaining 
unmarried.  She  had  been  reared  and  educated  in  her 
own  ancestral  halls,  under  the  watchful  guidance  and 
advice  of  her  uncle  ;  and  while  this  training  had  not  un- 
fitted her  to  shine  as  a  belle  in  maiden  fieedom,  yet  the 


New  Faces.  359 

honest  opinions  of  the  old  soldier  had  disgusted  her  with 
the  habits  of  European  married  women.  She  was  fully 
convinced  that,  with  matrimony,  came  an  obligation  to 
forsake  the  general,  and  rely  upon  individual  love  and 
admiration  as  the  sources  of  her  pleasure.  She  frequently 
expressed  her  abhorrence  of  the  conduct  of  many  she  saw 
around  her,  and  resolved  she  would  never  bestow  her 
hand  in  wedlock  until  prepared  to  forego  the  charms  of 
love-making  from  all  but  one  man. 

Philip  was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  interest  he  had 
inspired  in  this  lovely  and  high-born  maiden.  The 
studies  he  was  pursuing  did  not  absorb  his  time,  and  he 
wisely  concluded  that  much  improvement  would  result 
in  attention  to  the  habits  of  the  people  among  whom  he 
was  sojourning.  He  was  one  evening  in  the  opera-house, 
listening  to  Weber's  fine  music  in  Der  Freischutz,  when, 
looking  across  the  hall,  he  saw  the  Countess  Theresa  in 
her  box,  and,  receiving  a  glance  of  recognition,  passed 
over  and  accosted  her. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again,"  said  she.  "You 
have  not  hurried  yourself  in  redeeming  the  promise  you 
made  to  visit  us  at  the  castle." 

"  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Philip,  "  it  has  not  been  from 
a  want  of  inclination,  but  I  have  been  somehow  im- 
pressed with  the  idea  that  I  should  not  take  advantage 
of  the  acquaintance  commenced  in  such  an  unusual 
manner." 

"  You  distress  me  in  speaking  thus,  Mr.  Eustaee.  Could 
you  think  me  wholy  insincere  in  the  invitation  and  as- 
surance I  gave  you  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  we  may  be  entirely  honest  under  some 
imagined  obligation  in  our  efforts  to  discharge  the  debt 


360  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

of  gratitude  we  owe,  but  it  does  not  follow  because  we  are 
grateful  for  benefits  conferred,  we  should  desire  to  see  the 
author  of  the  kindness  very  often." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Eustace,  suppose  'you  forget  that  adventure 
with  the  horses — I  assure  you  I  shall  not — and  imagine 
we  have  met  for  the  first  time,  and  hear  me  again  declare 
I  esteem  your  presence  a  pleasure,  independent  of  any 
gratitude  I  feel.  My  uncle  authorizes  me  to  say  as  much 
for  him,  but  he  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  and  can, 
speak  for  himself." 

"  I  am  truly  obliged  to  your  ladyship,"  said  Philip,, 
"for  this  kindness.  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  to  visit 
Schulemberg  castle." 

A  passage  in  the  music  here  drew  their  attention,  and 
they  listened  until  the  song  was  finished.  The  countess 
was  a  passionate  lover  of  the  creations  of  genius,  and  did 
not  visit  the  opera-house  so  much  for  small-talk  as  for 
the  enjoyment  of  the  harmonies  and  soul-pictures  of  the- 
great  maestros.  Philip  felt  assured  of  the  fine  nature  of 
the  beautiful  being  before  him,  and  was  convinced  that 
the  artificial  forms  of  high  life  had  not  been  able  to  warp 
and  destroy  the  passionate  intuitions  which  still  controlled 
her  in  all  her  graceful  existence.  She  was  the  impersona- 
tion of  winning  elegance  in  her  manner,  and  he  soon 
learned  the  high  tone  of  her  principles.  To  admiration 
of  her  beauty,  was  added  esteem  for  the  freedom  of  her 
mind  in  matters  merely  conventional,  which  often  so< 
influence  the  sentiments  of  women  and  men  that  they 
become  a  second  nature,  enthralling  the  mind  and  pois- 
oning the  heart  to  all  that  is  noble  and  unaffected  in 
nature. 

The  autumn  frost  had  stripped  of  its  foliage  the  lindeni 


New  laces.  361 

tree  that  stood  in  the  court  yard  of  Counsellor  Strauss' 
house.  The  air  was  too  cool  to  enjoy  out-door  pleasures, 
so  largely  appreciated  in  Germany,  and  the  two,  who  had 
become  thoroughly  domesticated  in  their  foreign  home, 
were  sitting  in  the  pleasant  glow  of  a  fire  with  Ludwig 
Jagerndorf  and  the  family.  Philip  had  commenced  his 
first  original  picture,  and  he  and  the  artist  had  been  look- 
ing at  it  that  evening. 

"  I  like  your  treatment  of  the  subject  very  much,"  said 
Ludwig,  "especially  as  it  is  your  first  effort  at  composi- 
tion. The  attitude  of  the  two  figures  is  full  of  passion 
and  meaning,  and  I  can  almost  weep  to  think  it  is  proba- 
bly your  first  and  last  effort  in  a  calling  I  think  worthy 
of  any  man's  life  time  devotion." 

"  What  is  your  subject?"  asked  the  counsellor. 

"It  is," said  Philip,  "the  last  interview  between  King 
Arthur  and  his  guilt}7  wife,  Guinevere,  previous  to  the 
battle  in  which  the  chief  of  the  Pound  Table  was  wounded 
unto  death.  According  to  the  ancient  chronicle,  the 
queen  had  fled  from  the  court,  and  was  at  first  supposed 
by  Arthur  to  be  with  her  lover,  Launcelot,  beyond  the 
seas.  After  war  against  him  of  the  Lake  and  fruitless 
search  in  that  direction,  she  was  discovered  in  a  nunnery, 
and  the  king  is  represented  in  the  picture  as  supplicating; 
the  blessings  of  heaven  on  her  who  lies  grovelling  in 
silence  at  his  feet." 

"  Your  countrymen,"  said  the  counsellor,  "  do  not  cul- 
tivate the  arts  for  instruction  and  amusement  as  you  do, 
Mr.  Eustace." 

"  No,"  said  Philip,  "  our  system  of  education  ignores- 
the  prosecution  of  studies  opening  to  the  human  gaze  the 
never  failing  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful  in  art  and  nature. 


362  The  Heirs  of  SL  Kilda. 

The  majority  of  our  people  are  blind  even, to  the  gorgeous 
American  sunsets,  which  are  generally  richer  than  those 
seen  in  Europe,  The  loveliest  scenery  is  to  them  only 
attractive  in  the  probability  of  its  fertility;  and  in  music 
their  taste  is  satisfied  in  the  reels  and  jigs  of  negro  fid- 
dlers. They  have  but  slight  appreciation  of  what  Milton 
calls 

"  Strains  that  might  create  a  soul 
Under  the  ribs  of  death." 

Here  the  party  were  disturbed  by  cries  of  fire,  and  this 
announcement  was  soon  followed  by  a  bright  glare  upon 
the  windows.  They  went  out  and  found  that  a  neighbor 
was  removing  his  furniture,  while  the  devouring  element 
was  rapidly  destroying  his  house.  The  engines  were,  as 
usual,  too  late  to  save  the  building  and  limited  their 
effort  to  prevent  the  spread  of  the  flames  to  other  tene- 
ments. The  burning  house  was  taller  than  its  neighbors 
and  its  roof  so  difficult  of  access,  that  wuthout  consider- 
able exertion  it  could  not  be  reached.  Those  who  had 
been  engaged  in  saving  the  furniture  of  the  upper  rooms 
made  a  timely  retreat  by  the  stair-way  already  in  flames, 
as  were  all  the  lower  windows.  The  crowd  were  con- 
gratulating themselves  that  every  one  had  escaped,  when 
a  cry  of  despair  w7as  heard  from  the  topmost  story.  No 
one  could  imagine  from  whom  it  proceeded,  until  Ludwig 
Jagerndorf  missed  Sigismund,  who  had  been  with  him  a 
few  minutes  before,  and  thought  he  recognized  the  voice 
of  the  dwarf  still  faintly  heard  from  high  above.  The 
next  minute  the  window  sash  was  thrown  up,  and  far  up, 
was  seen,  like  a  demon  amid  the  ascending  smoke  and 
flames,  the  ill-shapen  figure.     He  was  thoroughly  terri- 


New  Faces.  363 

fied,  and  made  hideous  outcries  for  help.  None  saw  a 
chance  of  rescue,  for  the  ladders  were  too  short,  and  the 
three  lower  stories  were  so  far  consumed  that  the  walls 
might  fall  in  at  any  moment.  The  conviction  was  set- 
tling in  the  mind  of  all  that  Sigismund  must  certainly 
perish,  when  a  sudden  thought  struck  Philip,  and  he  ran 
into  a  house  standing  next  on  the  right.  He  was  soon 
on  its  roof,  and  by  others  was  lifted  high  enough  to  grasp 
the  balustrade  that  served  as  a  parapet  to  the  burning 
building.  By  this  means  he  drew  himself  up  and  reached 
the  roof.  The  crowd  below,  who  were  watching  his  move- 
ments in  breathless  suspense,  were  terrified  when  they 
saw  him  seize  the  parapet  above  the  low  window  in  which 
the  dwarf  stood  and  lower  his  tall  frame  in  its  front. 
Sigismund  grasped  the  feet  within  his  reach,  and  with 
tlie  agility  of  a  cat  passing  along  Philip's  body  and  over 
his  shoulders,  with  a  cry  of  exultation  leaped  upon  the 
roof.  He  then  turned  to  assist  his  rescuer  who  was  soon 
beside  him.  As  Philip  once  more  regained  the  roof,  a 
shout  of  applause  arose  from  the  astonished  multitude 
who  were  almost  frantic  in  their  demonstrations,  as  the 
two,  unharmed,  regained  the  street. 

Ludwig  Jiigerndorf  could  only  grasp  in  silence  the  hand 
of  his  friend  who  had  thus  periled  his  life  for  his  poor 
brother.  The  next  day,  the  whole  city  was  informed  of 
the  dangerous  feat,  and  every  one  was  wondering  at 
Philip's  recklessness.  His  reputation  for  courage  was  as 
well  established  in  this  city  of  strangers  as  in  his  native 
valley,  and  many  became  much  interested  in  the  handsome 
American  who  was  pointed  out  as  the  hero  of  the  fiie, 
and  whom  they  also  saw  frequently  basking  in  the  smiles 
of  the  Countess  of  Schulemberg,  now  fonder  than  ever  of 


3G4  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

the  opera.  She  had  heard  the  particulars  of  his  conduct 
at  the  fire,  and  from  Charles  Loundes  such  lavish  praise, 
that  the  heart  of  the  warm  and  impulsive  maiden  became 
strangely  fascinated.  The  deference  of  his  conduct  to- 
ward her  was  marked,  and  bore  abundant  confession 
of  liis  appreciation  of  her  charms.  There  was  a  difference 
between  his  admiration  and  that  of  other  men  she  had 
seen,  for  all  had  yielded  to  the  resistless  attraction  of  her 
presence.  Philip,  however,  always  preserved  a  certain 
manliness  and  reserve  which  served  but  to  increase  the 
countess'  regard  for  him  ;  for  she,  like  other  beautiful 
women,  keenly  relished  the  power  she  was  conscious  she 
possessed  over  those  of  the  opposite  sex.  Circumstances 
and  Observation  had  clothed  him  in  her  view  with  nobler 
attributes  than  she  had  previously  witnessed,  and  yet 
with  all  her  preference  for  himself  she  could  remember 
no  expression  of  his  beyond  what  gallantry  and  good 
breeding  justify. 

Philip  perceived  her  evident  kindliness  i-oward  him, 
but  persisted  in  attributing  these  tokens  of  regard  to  her 
gratitude  for  his  aid  on  the  evening  of  their  first  acquaint- 
ance. In  his  own  heart  there  was  growing  up  a  sentiment 
he  never  stopped  to  analyze,  or  he  might  have  at  once; 
through  his  high  sense  of  duty,  become  unhappy  with 
the  extent  of  his  attachment.  His  love  for  Rosamond 
was  in  his  heart  fresh  as  ever,  and  it  did  not,  for  a  mo- 
ment, occur  to  him  that  he  could  possibly  transfer  his 
fealty  to  Theresa  of  Schulemberg. 


Halcyon  Days.  3G5 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HALCYON    DAYS. 

"O,  she,  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame, 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love,  but  to  a  brother, 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft, 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her!" 

—  Twelfth  Night. 

The  German  winter  with  its  festivals  and  quiet,  fire- 
side pleasures  had  happily  glided  over  the  heads  of  the 
two  young  students  who  had  arrived,  a  year  before,  amid 
the  strange  faces  of  an  unknown  land.  During  the 
Christmas  holidays,  by  help  of  railways,  they  made  a  fly- 
ing visit  to  the  family  in  Paris,  then  settled  into  en- 
joyment of  homedife  amid  the  noise  and  gaiety  of  the 
great  hive  of  fashion.  Philip  saw  with  delight  that 
Mariana's  eyes  had  lost  their  look  of  abstraction.  The 
darkness,  which  had  so  long  shut  him  from  her  vision, 
had  passed  away,  and  her  blindness  existed  but  in  the 
memory  of  the  past.  In  the  lapse  of  time  and  with  in- 
creasing health,  came  a  further  development  of  her  ma- 
donna-like beaut}7. 

Philip  had  last  seen  Rosamond  in  the  faint  illumina- 
tion of  a  sick  chamber,  and  he  could  but  judge,  from  the 
pure,  pale  brow,  the  remaining  perfections  of  a  face  he  did 
not  see:  but  the  magic  of  his  cousin's  attraction  had  but 
little  in  common  with  that  of  Mariana.  The  Countess 
of  Schulemberg,  too,  afforded  delicious  suggestions  as 
he  looked  upon  the  swiftly  changing  evidences  of  passing 
emotion.     He  noticed  with  his  awakened  artist  percep- 


366  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

tions  the  full  blue  eyes  aglow  with  the  splendor  of  joy, 
and  anon  swimming  in  the  soft  languor  of  maiden  medi- 
tations. Philip  saw  much  difference  in  these  two.  In 
his  sister,  an  ethereal  Minerva-like  exemption  from  the 
fluctuations  of  feeling;  in  the  countess,  ever-active  sus- 
ceptibility to  the  changing  complexion  of  her  own  heart- 
yearnings.  In  one,  sensuous  promptings  seemed  bound 
in  the  golden  ligatures  of  sleepless  wisdom  ;  in  the  other 
passion  was  continually  asking  of  supervising  discretion 
limits  to  the  extent  of  its  joy.  Innocence  and  beauty 
were  alike  possessed,  and  the  hand  of  Providence  had 
rested  heavily  on  the  hearts  of  both.  Mariana  had  seen 
the  world  with  its  flowers,  its  sunsets,  and  its  gleaming 
lakes,  fade  as  she  thought  forever  from  her  view ;  and  the 
mistress  of  Schulemberg  castle  yet  bewailed  the  loss  of 
her  parents.  Both  had  grown  wiser  in  these  afflictions  '> 
but  in  their  original  natures,  were  planted  the  seeds 
which,  though  in  the  final  harvest  they  might  yield  kin- 
dred sheaves,  yet  in  youth  necessarily  presented  a  divers- 
itv  of  bloom. 

Philip  returned  with  a  heart  freshened  by  recent  com- 
munion with  those  who  had  been  so  happy  in  welcom- 
ing him  to  their  Parisian  home.  Charles  Loundes  had 
at  last  told  his  love,  plainly,  and  unmistakably  to  her 
who  was  to  him  so  full  of  inspiring  beauty  ;  and  Mariana 
had  so  tenderly  received  his  homage  that  he  was  wholly 
unable  to  fathom  the  soft  yet  changeless  nature  of  the  idol 
he  worshipped.  She  seemed  pleased  with  his  devotion  ; 
and  yet  he  felt,  after  all  he  had  said,  that  in  her  present 
determination  he  could  never  induce  her  to  become  his 
bride.  That  she  experienced  a  large  and  increasing  in- 
terest in  the  friend  of  her  brother,  was  evident  not  only 


Halcyon  Days.  367 

to  himself,  but  to  those  around  her;  and  that  this  attach- 
ment was  stronger  and  more  abiding  than  those  usually 
producing  betrothal  was  true  ;  but  while  Mariana  recog- 
nized in  her  own  heart  this  growing  interest,  she  never 
thought  of  Charles  Loundes  in  connection  with  marriage, 
until  with  fervid  eloquence  he  told  her  how  necessary- 
she  was  to  his  future  peace.  Philip  had  often  talked 
with  him  in  relation  to  his  hope,  and  such  was  the  con- 
fidence reposed  by  the  brother  in  the  honor,  and  such 
were  the  endearing  qualities  of  his  friend,  that  he  was  his 
choice  of  all  the  world  as  the  husband  of  his  sister,  in  the 
event  of  her  own  wishes  toward  such  a  marriage. 

Of  this  much  Charles  Loundes  was  assured  ;  but  was 
also  acquainted  with  Gov.  Eustace's  opposition  to  any 
such  change  in  the  relations  of  his  daughter.  Now  that 
her  vision  was  wholly  restored,  the  father,  who  had  al- 
ways loved  her  with  the  tenderest  affection,  was  annoyed 
at  the  slightest  probability  of  her  removal  from  his  pres- 
ence. The  nature  of  his  public  duties  had  separated  him 
so  much  from  his  children,  that  since  she  had  reached 
maturity,  and  was  restored  to  a  full  possession  of  her  fac- 
ulties, he  manifested  repugnance  to  another's  interfering 
between  himself  and  his  daughter.  He  appreciated  the 
passionless  serenity  of  her  disposition,  and  felt  that  the 
young  men  who  frequented  his  saloons  could  fall  in  love 
with  an  angel  with  as  much  propriety  as  with  Mariana. 
He  knew  she  had  lived  for  years  in  an  atmosphere  which 
was  utterly  beyond  the  comprehension  of  most  people, 
and  the  idea  of  disturbing  the  composure  of  this  sinless 
being,  with  the  profaning  company  of  man,  seemed  to 
him  a  thing  unhallowed  and  not  to  be  permitted. 


368  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

From  Philip's  representation  and  his  own  observation, 
Gov.  Eustace  saw  much  in  Louncles  to  attract  his  com- 
mendation ;  but  in  this  matter  of  surrendering  his  heart's 
idol,  who  now  reproduced  to  his  gaze  the  beautiful  mother 
who  had  long  ago  faded  from  his  arms,  was  a  subject  full 
of  pain.  That  Philip  should  love,  and  some  day  marry 
Rosamond,  was  one  of  the  chief  wishes  of  his  heart;  and 
both  of  the  young  people  were  well  aware  of  this  desire.. 
The  father  and  son  had  a  long  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject during  the  Christmas  visit,  and  Gov.  Eustace  was 
happy  in  the  belief  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  con- 
duct of  either  to  weaken  the  trust  that  ere  long  his  wishes 
in  this  respect  would  be  gratified. 

The  awakening  influences  of  spring  were  as  joyous  to 
Philip  in  his  German  home  as  in  his  own  native  valley, 
and  he  was  full  of  satisfaction  as  he  traversed  the  smooth, 
broad  roads  leading  in  all  directions  around.  Sometimes 
the  gentler  of  the  two  English  horses,  called  Exile,  car- 
ried on  these  evening  excursions  a  curious  looking  rider. 
Sigismund,  from  the  peril  he  had  induced  Philip  to  un- 
dergo at  the  fire,  since  that  event  seemed  to  have  grown 
strangely  in  his  favor,  and  the  dwarf  regarded  him  with 
a  devotion  truly  wonderful.  No  errand  was  troublesome, 
if  Philip  requested  it.  and  his  mother,  whose  tender 
blindness  to  his  deformity  in  stature  and  disposition, 
made  her  ever  gentle,  saw  with  sorrowful  astonishment 
that  her  own  child  now  preferred  this  stranger  to  herself. 
But  recollecting  Philip's  services,  she  told  Sigismund, 
with  a  sigh,  the  gentleman  was  kind  and  noble  hearted, 
and  deserved  all  the  love  he  gave  him.  The  people  would 
smile  with  kindly  salutations  as  the  American  passed 
through  the  streets  on  horseback,  thus  strangely  attended. 


Halcyon  Days.  369 

The  story  of  his  kindness,  and  the  wild  attachment  of  the 
dwarf,  became  known  ;  and  all  wondered  at  this  conde- 
scension of  the  cavalier  from  beyond  the  seas,  to  one  so 
many  of  themselves  regarded  with  aversion. 

Sigismund  was  a  great  lover  of  the  theatre  and  opera, 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  had  full  opportunity  to 
gratify  this  passion  for  the  bright  lights  and  music  which 
seemed  to  constitute  the  chief  attractions  of  the  whole 
affair.  He  was  sometimes  noticed  to  exhibit  delight  at 
the  brilliant  and  unusual  costumes  of  the  actors,  but  the 
drama  itself  was  entirely  beyond  his  comprehension.  He 
occasionally  came  to  Philip  as  he  was  sitting  at  the  play 
with  the  countess,  who  was  interested  in  the  dw,arf  from 
the  fact  of  his  devotion  to  one  she  so  much  admired  her- 
self; but  she  could  not,  with  all  her  beauty  and  winning- 
kindness,  prevent  his  growing  restless  in  her  presence. 
Ludwig  was  fearful  Sigismund  wTould  prove  troublesome 
in  his  attachment  and  sometimes  remonstrated  with 
Philip  for  not  sending  him  off;  but  this  would  have  been 
such  a  grief  to  the  half-witted  creature,  the  advice  was 
not  taken.  As  Charles  Loundes  occasionally  teased  him, 
he  was  but  little  loved  by  the  dwarf,  who  was  slow  to  for- 
get anything  he  regarded  as  an  affront. 

Philip  and  Ludwig  kept  their  easels  in  the  same  room, 
and  the  more  the  American,  who  painted  for  the  pleasure 
of  mastering  a  beautiful  art,  saw  of  the  calm,  assiduous 
attention  of  him  who  was  working  for  sustenance  in  life 
and  immortalitv  afterwards,  the  more  was  he  attracted 
toward  him.  He  had  never  seen  such  enlightened  devo- 
tion to  a  mere  calling;  for  beyond  his  love  of  music  and 
sculpture,  the  whole  pleasure  of  the  artist  seemed  centered 
in  eager  study  of  the  forms  of  beauty  in  nature,  and  their 
24 


370  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

delineation.  Apart  from  his  recreation  from  toil  at  the 
easel,  he  seemed  to  care  for  no  pleasure  in  life.  His  even- 
ing: excursions  on  the  streets  were  made  tours  of  observa- 
tion  on  the  varying  effects  of  light  and  shadow,  and  the 
■shop-doors  were  observed,  for  new  folds  in  his  draperies. 
Philip's  horses,  with  their  elegant  forms,  were  to  him  al- 
most as  great  a  source  of  delight  as  they  were  to  Sigis- 
mund,  and  he  sketched  them  in  almost  every  possible 
attitude. 

One  evening  Philip  and  he  were  standing  amid  the 
sculptured  memorials  of  the  dead,  in  an  old  cathedral 
long  ago  hoary  with  age.  The  mellow  light  of  the  de- 
clining day  came  in  glory  through  the  lofty  arches  of 
the  stained  windows,  lighting  up  the  marble  effigies  of 
those  who  bad  slumbered  for  ages  in  this  venerable  fane. 
Just  before  them  was  a  reclining  figure,  with  its  crossed 
legs  denoting  a  crusader,  and  beyond  it  some  half- forgot- 
ten saint.  The  light  from  the  gleaming  marble  was  re- 
flected up  into  the  dim,  lofty  depths  of  the  vaulted  roof, 
disclosing  the  wondrous  beauties  long  ago  wrought  by  the 
hands  of  the  matchless  builders  of  mediaeval  days.  Philip 
remembered  and  repeated  Congreve's  beautiful  descrip- 
tion : 

"  How  reverend  is  the  face  of  this  tall  pile. 
Whose  ancient -pillars  rear  their  marble  heads 
To  bear  aloft  its  arched  and  ponderous  roof. 
By  its  own  weight  made  steadfast  and  immovable, 
Looking  tranquility.    It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aching  sight ;  the  tombs 
And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  chilliness  to  my  trembling  heart." 

"  Ludwig,"  said  Philip,  "  I  shall  sadly  miss  these  grand 
temples,  when  I  return  to  America.     Years  ago,  before  I 


Halcyon  Days.  371 

•ever  stood  beneath  them,  I  had  imagined,  with  Milton, 
how  sweet  it  was 

'  To  walk  the  studious  cloister's  pale, 
And  love  the  h;gh  embower'd  roof, 
V  ith  antique  pillars,  massy  proof, 
And  storied  windows  richly  dight, 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light.' 

I  shall  wander  in  our  great  forests,  and  imagine  myself 
in  some  huge  cathedral  again.  This  noble  pile  will  be 
frequently  in  my  recollection,  I  can  assure  you.  But 
solemn  and  majestic  as  are  the  untouched  forests  of  my 
native  land,  they  are  less  impressive  than  this  stately 
home  of  religion  and  death. 

"Ludwig,"  continued  Philipj  "a  deep  and  unquestion- 
ing faith  in  the  divine  sources  of  their  religion  must  have 
led  those  great  ancestors  of  yours  to  conceive  and  erect 
this  beautiful  and  stupendous  temple  of  worship;  for 
every  portion  of  it  seems  to  me  stamped  with  impressions 
of  the  soul.  How  is  it,  that  you  Germans  of  the  present 
day  have  come  to  believe  in  nothing  but  what  you  can 
see  with  your  own  feeble  eyes,  when  so  many  of  your 
noble  forefathers  were  willing  to  die  in  the  crusades?" 

"  We  are  wiser  than  our  simple-hearted  ancestry."  said 
the  artist.  "  Credulity  and  faith  are  to  my  view  synony- 
mous terms,  and,  with  their  sister  superstition,  were  pro- 
duced at  the  same  birth.  Priest-craft  and  feudal  tyranny 
conspired  to  fetter  the  minds  of  men  for  a  long  time,  and 
were  for  ages  successful ;  but  since  the  advent  of  good 
Doctor  Martin,  their  empire  has  been  waning." 

"You  must  admit,"  said  Philip,  "that  Luther  taught 
nothing  to  justify  such  skepticism  ;  for  his  whole  daunt- 
less life  was  one  long  and  eloquent  evangel  of  this  very 


372  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

principle  which  you  pronounce  the  sister  of  credulity. 
His  central  idea  was  that  men  are  justified  by  faith  ; 
but  the  Germans  of  this  dav  would  make  his  whole  mis- 
sion  a  senseless  disturbance  of  the  world's  creeds,  to  estab- 
lish a  dogma  which  is  after  all  simple  credulity,  the 
ancient  Romish  stepping  stone  to  dominion  in  spiritual 
matters." 

"  It  is  not  reasonable,"  said  Ludwig,  "  to  expect  men  to 
believe  things  contrar}T  to  their  knowledge  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  nature." 

"You  acknowledge  there  is  a  necessity  for  a  religious 
belief  of  some  kind  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  Men  turn  instinctively  to  some  religion, 
and  I  think  it  clearly  evident,  that  by  the  constitution 
of  their  natures  there  must  be  some  form  of  worship." 

"  It  is  passing  strange,"  said  Philip,  "  to  hear  you  thus 
confess  this  necessity,  and  then  say  there  is  wisdom  in 
any  skepticism  as  to  the  revelation  we  possess.  It  is  in 
the  first  place  a  system  (even  conceding  it  is  of  human 
origin)  of  such  consummate  wisdom  and  benefit  in  its 
practical  injunctions,  that  on  any  other  theory  of  morals 
the  world  would  become  utterly  debased.  Add  to  this, 
it  claims  to  be  the  revealed  will  of  the  God  whom  I  know 
you  acknowledge ;  then  in  what  an  awful  position  you 
place  yourself  by  infidelity  and  rebellion  to  His  known 
commands.  If  Islamism,  Boodhism,  or  the  vanished 
creeds  of  the  ancients,  is  either  of  them  preferable  in  your 
estimation  to  this  system  which  all  enlightened  nations 
have  received  in  the  spirit  of  its  high  claims,  then  to  be 
consistent  you  should  turn  to  that  creed  which  in  your 
belief  most  nearly  approaches  the  truth.  It  seems  to 
me    preposterous    to    acknowledge    the   need    of    some 


Halcyon  Days.  373 

religion,  and  then  raise  difficulties  and  doubts  as  to  the 
truth  of  a  moral  code  you  confess  to  be  the  best  which  has 
yet  been  made  known  to  the  world." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  Christianity  itself,"  said  Lud- 
wig,  "  for  I  acknowledge  the  wisdom  and  purity  of  the 
Decalogue  and  the  teachings  of  Christ.  I  have  no  desire 
to  weaken  the  reverence  of  men  for  this  system  of  morals 
to  which  I  endeavor  to  conform  myself;  but  I  do  object 
to  the  persecutions  which  christians  have  visited  upon 
each  other,  and  I  cannot  believe  in  the  wild  stories  of  the 
Exodus." 

"  My  friend,  how  do  you  fail  to  perceive  the  damaging 
aiature  of  these  very  objections  ?  You  must  know  that 
the  whole  drift  of  Christ's  teachings  on  earth  was  utterly 
opposed  to  the  spirit  of  persecution.  With  what  justice 
can  you  confound  human  misdeeds  and  want  of  charity? 
with  the  sublime  patience  and  meekness  of  Him  whose 
life  among  men  was  a  long  lesson  of  unobtrusive  humil- 
ity, and  who,  preaching  peace  in  every  imaginable  way, 
denied  that  he  had  come  to  force  men  into  His  doctrines. 
How  then  can  you  hold  Him  or  His  true  followers  re- 
sponsible for  the  bloody  folly  and  intemperance  of  those 
who  falsely  persecute  in  His  name?  Again,  you  main- 
tain that  the  system,  resting  its  claims  to  divine  origin 
on  miraculous  attestations  of  its  truth,  should  be  subject- 
•ed  to  the  same  canons  of  criticism  you  apply  to  mere  hu- 
man statements.  I  maintain  that  Mahomet  imposed  a 
snare  and  a  delusion  upon  men,  because  there  are  no 
divine  sanctions  to  the  truth  of  his  teachings.  I  am 
satisfied  that  Jesus  did  not  transcend  in  his  claims  the 
real  truth  of  his  descent,  because  through  ages  of  the 
world's  history  there  had  been  a  series  of  miracles  and 


374  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kitda. 

prophecies  corroborating  the  great  truth  that  Messiah,. 
in  the  lapse  of  time,  should  come  and  suffer  death  at  the- 
hands  of  man.  When  I  point  you  to  these  extraordinary 
evidences  upon  which  I  rest  my  faith,  you  turn  upon  me 
and  ask  me  to  prove  them  by  the  very  rules-  of  probability,, 
the  violation  of  which  attest  their  divine  origin." 

"  I  have  never  taken  that  view  of  the  subject,"  said 
Ludwig,  "  and  I  admit  that  Moses'  statements,  that  the 
Israelites  were  led  by  the  hand  of  God,  are  not  amenable- 
to  similar  tests  of  examination  as  those  allowable  in  de- 
termining the  truth  of  Homer's  statements  concerning 
the  Trojan  war." 

"Then,"  said  Philip,  "if  we  are  to  accept  the  Bible  as 
true  in  part,  it  is  our  duty  to  receive  it  as  a  whole.  If 
the  statements  upon  which  Christianity  rests  its  claims 
to  authenticity  are  proved  in  some  respects,  then 
should  come  into  exercise  the  faculty  of  faith  which 
trustingly  accepts  the  truths  over  which  reason  is  power- 
less in  its  efforts  at  dissection.  You  say  you  cannot  be- 
lieve what  you  fail  to  understand  in  religion  ;  but  you 
forget  how  little  of  the  true  operations  of  nature  we  really 
comprehend.  Are  not  our  technical  terms  after  all  but 
ingenious  devices  to  hide  our  ignorance?  In  physics, 
we  set  out  with  the  assertion,  that  all  material  bodies  are- 
subjected  to  the  law  of  gravitation  ;  but  no  man  pretends, 
to  explain  the  secret  of  this  attraction.  The  mariner  in 
his  wanderings  upon  the  trackless  deep,  while  clouds  may 
have  hidden  the  stars  from  his  view,  is  confident  in  all 
the  perilous  darkness  that  his  needle  is  still  pointing 
northward.  Do  you  know  why  it  obeys  this  law  ?  And 
yet  with  this  inability  to  penetrate  the  hidden  significance 
of  things  around  us,  that  men  should  hope  to  fathom  the 


Halcoyon  Days.  375 

deep  purposes  of  infinite  wisdom,  seems  to  me  as  illogical 
as  it  is  impious.  You  do  not  understand  the  lost  process 
by  which  your  ancestors  stained  that  gorgeous  window, 
and  yet  you  see  its  glory,  and  know  how  futile  are  present 
attempts  to  equal  it: 

4  All  garlanded  with  carved  images, 
Of  fruits,  and  flowers,  and  bunches  of  knot-grass, 
And  diamonded  with  panes  of  quaint  device, 
Innumerable  of  stains  and  splendid  dyes, 
As  are  the  tiger-moth's  deep-damask 'd  wings.'  " 

The  artist,  in  the  careless  habits  of  German  skepticism, 
had  never  reflected  upon  these  questions  in  the  earnest 
manner  he  saw  actuating  Philip,  and  their  profound  im- 
portance now  engaged  the  speculations  of  the  worshipper 
of  the  beautiful  in  a  manner  entirely  unusual  with  him. 
He  had  witnessed  his  friend's  disregard  of  danger,  and 
yet  this  youth,  who  seemed  to  attract  all  hearts  with  the 
resistless  generosity  of  his  nature,  could  pause  amid  life's 
blandishments  and  seek  the  support  of  an  unseen  arm, 
when  so  many  things  conspired  to  bring  the  suggestion 
of  the  sufficiency  of  his  own  power.  If  this  heir  to  abound- 
ing wealth  and  the  favoring  smiles  of  beautiful  women 
could  feel  the  need  of  such  support,  how  could  the  poor 
artist  continue  in  his  unthinking  self-reliance?  Ludwig, 
that  night,  fell  asleep  pondering  these  weighty  matters, 
and  visions  of  beautiful  forms  went  dancing  through  his 
brain.  The  great  dream  of  his  life  was  to  secure  im- 
mortality for  the  works  of  his  hands,  forgetting  that 
within  his  own  breast  was  a  creative  faculty  in  the 
very  nature  of  its  being,  deathless  whether  he  recognized 
it  or  not     Oh  blindness  and  poverty  of  human  concep- 


at- 


76  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

tion !  thus  to  lose  sight  of  the  Infinite  and  Eternal,  in 
futile  idolatry  of  the  swiftly  vanishing  present. 

Ludwig  Jagerndorf  was,  as  usual,  busy  at  his  easel,  and 
Charles  Loundes  was  lounging  about  the  room.  "White 
clouds  of  smoke  arose  from  his  meerschaum,  while  he 
patted  the  silken  head  of  a  spaniel  which  was  fawning 
upon  him. 

"Where  is  Philip  to-day?"'  said  the  artist. 

"Visiting  the  countess,"  said  Loundes. 

"  He  must  be  loving  the  charming  creature.  I  wish 
she  would  sit  to  me  for  this  unfinished  head  of  Mary 
Stuart." 

"  Who  is  the  man  in  the  foreground,  with  the  sword 
through  his  body?" 

"  David  Rizzio,  the  queen's  secretary,  who  was  assas- 
sinated by  Darnley  and  others." 

"  I  see  now,  it  is  the  murder  of  Rizzio  you  are  paint- 
ing.    I  thought  you  had  finished  that  piece." 

"No;  I  have  taken  it  in  hand  again,  to  retouch  the 
queen's  head.  I  was  looking  at  the  Countess  of  Schul- 
emberg  at  the  opera  a  few  nights  ago,  and  she  so  com- 
pletely realized  my  idea  of  the  Scottish  beauty's  loveli- 
ness, as  she  sat  conversing  with  our  friend,  that  I  am 
putting  some  touches  of  her  face  in  my  picture.  By  the 
way,  did  you  ever  know  another  man  like  Philip  Eustace? 
He  is  a  puzzle  to  me." 

"  In  what  way  do  you  fail  to  comprehend  him?" 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  he  seems  to  enjoy  almost 
everything  in  which  you  could  reasonably  suppose  a  man 
could  find  amusement ;  but  with  it  all  he  is  so  just  and 
moderate,  that  I  cannot  discover  he  has  any  particular 
hobby.     The  Countess  Theresa,  and  half  the  women  who 


Halcyon  Bays.  377 

have  seen  him,  are  in  love  with  his  handsome  person  ; 
yet  he  never  slights  his  studies,  and  finds  time  to  caress 
poor  Sigismund.  With  his  love  for  horses  and  dogs, 
he  has  real  enthusiasm  for  art;  and  with  all  these  enjoy- 
ments, is  as  conscientious  as  a  divine." 

"  He  is  the  best  and  bravest  man  I  ever  saw." 
"  I  fully  admit  his  admirable  qualities,"  said  Ludwig, 
"  but  that  does  not  enable  me  to  fathom  his  disposition." 
A  third  person  was  in  the  artist's  studio,  apparently 
absorbed  in  the  paintings,  old  pieces  of  armor,  and  drapery 
scattered  around.  But  intently  as  he  surveyed  these 
things,  his  whole  soul  was  stirred  by  portions  of  the  con- 
versation to  which  he  had  been  listening.  He  was  ele- 
gantly dressed,  and  seemed  deeply  interested  in  the  crea- 
tions of  Lud wig's*  fancy.  He  had  a  look  of  inward  pain, 
as  if  some  memory  of  the  past,  or  unsatisfied  hope,  was 
aiding  intemperance  in  marring  the  smooth  front' of  this 
man  of  the  world.  The  severity  of  expression  about  his 
thin,  colorless  lips,  and  the  cold  glitter  of  deeply-set  gray 
eyes,  repelled  the  interest  arising  in  the  breast  of  Ludwig 
Jagerndorf,  who  was  easily  flattered  by  the  appearance  of 
admiration  for  his  works.  This  stranger  was  well  known 
to  Loundes,  who  had  never  liked  Frederick  Compton 
when  they  were  together  in  America.  He  had  traveled 
out  of  his  intended  route,  to  visit  his  acquaintances,  for 
whom  he  expressed  unbounded  attachment.  He  said  he 
had  come  to  make  the  tour  of  Europe,  but  had  passed, 
with  little  delay,  from  Liverpool  to  Paris ;  and  there 
having  learned  where  he  could  find  Philip,  had  started 
two  days  afterward  for  the  German  city.  He  was  appa- 
rently actuated  by  strong  friendship  and  desire  to  be  with 
his  former  associates,  to  judge  from  these  movements  of 


378  Ihe  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

one  who  bad  come  to  visit  and  survey  the  wonders  of  a 
continent.  His  small,  white  hands  smoothed  his  yellow 
locks,  as  if  satisfied  with  his  inspection  of  the  room  ;  and 
with  an  air  of  indifference  to  what  had  been  said,  he  sat 
down  where  he  could  see  Ludwig  moulding  into  greater 
loveliness  the  face  of  the  radiant  and  unfortunate  queen." 

"  Loundes,"  said  he,  "you  and  Philip  must  have  a  very 
pleasant  and  eas}7  time  here." 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  case  with  myself ;  but  Philip  manages 
to  keep  himself  busy." 

"  How  is  it  he  can  find  so  much  more  to  do  than  you?" 

"  Monsieur  Eustace,"  said  Ludwig,  "is  getting  to  bean 
artist,  and  then  he  has  to  look  after  so  many  friends. 
There  is  a  beautiful  young  countess  who  lives  in  the  castle 
on  the  hill  on  the  outside  of  the  cit}^ ;  if  you  will  walk  to 
that  window  in  the  northern  end  of  the  room,  you  can  see 
its  towers  and  battlements." 

"I  have  just  been  looking  at  it,"  said  Compton.  "  Do 
you  think  Philip  cares  for  this  countess?" 

"  Yes ;  he  likes  her  as  would  any  man  with  half  a  soul , 
seeing  she  values  him  so  highly." 

Charles  Loundes  somehow  did  not  fancy  this  discussion 
of  his  absent  friend  by  Compton  ;  so,  by  a  series  of  ques- 
tions in  regard  to  matters  in  America,  the  young  gentle- 
man from  St.  Kilda,  who  by  no  means  desired  to  create 
the  impression  that  he  was  more  than  casually  interested 
in  the  nature  of  Philip's  feelings,  was  forced  to  talk  on 
other  subjects.  If  his  heart  could  have  been  seen,  it  would 
have  disclosed  so  much  desire  for  all  the  particulars  in 
relation  to  this  matter,  that  one  less  astute  would  have 
immediately  returned  to  a  subject  as  yet  so  unsatisfac- 
torily understood. 


Halcyon  Days.  379 

Philip  had  gone  out  early  in  the  morning  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Schulemberg  castle,  and  as  the  countess  had  fre- 
quently requested  him  to  bring  Sigismund,  he  had  com- 
plied with  the  earnest  entreaties  of  the  dwarf  to  that  effect. 
So  after  solemn  assurance  that  he  would  be  on  his  good 
behavior,  the  two  had  set  out  on  horseback.  When  Philip 
reached  the  castle,  there  were  grave  smiles  of  astonish- 
ment among  the  servants  at  the  uncouth  appearance  of 
his  attendant,  and  Sigismund  half  repented  his  visit, 
when  he  was  taken  by  the  hand  and  led  to  the  saloon, 
where  the  countess  and  Baron  Waldemar  were  sitting. 
At  the  request  of  the  lady,  he  took  a  chair  and  remained 
for  sometime  quietly  surveying  the  high,  vaulted  ceiling, 
with  its  sculptured  vines  and  flowers  enclosing  glowing 
frescoes;  but  the  restraint  was  too  much,  and  having 
promised  not  to  break  his  neck  from  any  of  the  trees,  he 
was  soon  enjoying  the  sunshine  and  freedom  of  the 
grounds. 

Schulemberg  castle  had  been,  in  the  remote  past,  one 
of  the  largest  and  most  magnificent  of  feudal  residences. 
Its  most  ancient  portions  had  been  constructed  with  a 
massive  strength  and  simplicity  which  still  preserved  a 
majestic  charm  in  the  lofty  towers  and  projecting  but- 
tresses breaking  the  continuity  of  the  vast  dead -walls. 
The  hill  upon  which  it  stood  had  been  once  held  and  for- 
tified by  the  Romans  as  a  military  post,  and  traces  of  their 
works  were  yet  discernible.  The  central  portion  of  the 
huge  pile  had  been  a  splendid  palace  in  the  days  of  Ru- 
dolf of  Hapsburg,  but  was  ruined  in  the  wars  which  de- 
stroyed the  short-lived  prosperity  of  the  Winter-King. 
The  mighty  houses  of  Hapsburg  and  Hohenzollern  had 
both  sent  brides  to  grace  its  stately  walls,  and  the  Countess 


380  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

Theresa  could  thus  trace  her  descent  from  the  great  em- 
perors and  kings  of  the  shadowy  past.  Although  the 
latest  male  representatives  of  the  line  had  been  engaged 
in  continuous  opposition  to  Napoleon,  Schulemberg  castle 
had  escaped  the  ravages  of  that  fearful  period  in  which 
so  much  German  blood  was  shed,  and  which  so  frequently 
saw  their  armies  smitten  with  disastrous  defeat  before  the 
•conquering  legions  of  France. 

The  form  of  Baron  Waldemar,  already  bowed  with  the 
weight  of  years,  would  seem  to  stoop  still  lower  in  grief 
as  he  recalled  the  fearful  incidents  of  such  routs  as  his 
comrades  endured  at  Jena  and  Austerlitz  ;  but  the  fire 
would  come  back  to  his  eyes,  and  the  feeble  frame  dilate 
with  triumph  at  the  mention  of  Leipsic  and  Waterloo. 
Philip  was  astonished  at  the  mingled  fear  and  hatred  still 
lingering  in  the  memory  of  this  member  of  the  old  no- 
blesse, whose  tenure  of  power  had  been  so  fearfully  inter- 
rupted and  jeopardized  by  him  who  was  yet  regarded  as 
a  Corsican  adventurer. 

The  day  had  passed  rapidly  away  in  the  pleasure  the 
two  young  people  found  in  each  other's  company  ;  and  as 
the  shadows  from  the  towers  commenced  stretching  them- 
selves to  the  east,  they  came  out  into  the  golden  sunshine 
for  a  ramble  among  the  trees.  From  one  of  these  Sigis- 
mund,  on  seeing  Philip,  made  a  hasty  descent,  leaving 
his  perch  amid  the  boughs  where  he  had  been  gazing  into 
a  neat  of  young  birds.  Philip  and  the  countess  passed 
along  the  marble  balustrade  on  the  edge  of  the  terrace, 
down  a  flight  of  steps  between  two  stone  dragons  couchant 
upon  massive  slabs  of  the  same  material. 

They  went  slowly  on  in  the  mellow  evening  light,  fol- 
lowed by  the  dwarf;     The  old  duenna,  Madame  von  Ess- 


Halcyon  Boys.  381 

ling,  who  had  long  been  the  guide  and  companion  of  the 
countess,  as  she  looked  on  the  three  figures  from  her 
window,  was  reminded  of  an  old  German  allegory  of 
Youth  and  Innocence,  pursued  by  the  ill-shapen  genius 
of  Malice.  Philip  and  the  countess  paused  in  a  little 
shady  dell  over-hung  and  darkened  by  mighty  trees. 
Under  the  hill-side  was  a  grotto  in  the  silence  and  gloom 
of  which,  beneath  the  sparkling  waters  of  a  fountain, 
reclined  the  statue  of  a  beautiful  girl.  She  was  timorously 
looking  up,  while  the  water  poured  over  her  figure  from 
a  shell  she  held  in  her  uplifted  hand. 

"  The  face  of  the  figure,"  said   Philip,  "  reminds  me  of 
a  picture  I  noticed  in  the  castle." 

"It  represents  Undine,"  said  the  countess.  "  There  is 
an  old  story  of  her  love  for  a  knight  of  our  house,  who 
was  the  younger  of  two  brothers,  and  became  famous  as- 
one  of  the  Teutsch  Hitters.  He  was  known  as  Conrad 
von  Miltiz,  and  survived  the  great  disaster  of  his  brother- 
hood at  Tannenberg,  ultimately  becoming  hochmeister 
of  his  order.  It  is  said  that  he  found  the  pretty  nymph 
playing  in  the  waters  of  this  very  spring,  and  they  came 
to  love  each  other  very  dearly.  Whenever  Conrad  could 
visit  this  home  of  his  birth,  he  would  come  to  this  spot 
and  look  all  day  into  the  eyes  of  Undine,  who  sought  no 
higher  bliss  than  to  be  caressed  by  the  handsome  soldier. 
They  met  here,  and  continued  in  their  love  for  years, 
until  Kurfurst  Johanu,  the  alchemist,  happening  to  be 
the  guest  of  Cassimer  von  Schulemberg,  the  elder  broth- 
er, by  some  magical  spell  banished  the  beautiful  lady  of 
the  woods;  and  Conrad  failing  to  find  her  erected  this 
grotto  with  that  sweet  little  statue  to  commemorate  his 
lost  love/' 


382  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  The  expression  of  her  eyes  is  exceeding  tender,"  said 
Philip.  Ritter  Conrad  must  have  been  very  happy  in 
such  looks  of  love." 

If  Philip  had  looked  in  the  face  of  the  fair  being  at  his 
side,  he  would  have  seen  it  aglow  with  a  love  which 
sculptors  have  vainly  endeavored  to  portray,  in  the  cold- 
ness of  their  marble  images. 

"  Think  you,"  said  she,  "  that  man  ever  becomes  truly 
happy  in  the  knowledge  that  he  is  loved  by  woman?" 

"  Most  assuredly,  to  him  whose  heart  is  pure  and  pos- 
sesses the  capacity  to  appreciate  the  sources  of  true  hap- 
piness, there  can  be  no  earthly  boon  conferring  such  utter 
ecstacy  as  the  confession  from  her  he  loves,  that  his 
affection  is  returned.  Place  and  station  may  be  grateful 
to  the  ambitious,  but  the  memory  of  the  first,  full  assur- 
ance on  this  subject  has  ever  been  acknowledged  by  good 
men  as  the  supreme  height  of  earthly  felicity." 

"  I  have  thought,"  said  the  countess,  "  that  this  roman- 
tic bliss  belonged  exclusively  to  the  experience  of  my 
sex." 

"Those  who,  like  yourself,"  said  Philip,  "  are  so  full  of 
goodness  and  beauty,  I  doubt  not,  experience  higher  joy 
in  anything  tending  to  the  production  of  such  emotion, 
than  men  can  feel ;  for  I  believe  our  enjoyment  is 
always  deep  and  complete  just  as  we  are  innocent  and 
pure." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Eustace,  you  must  be  very  happy,"  said 
the  countess,  "  for  every  one  esteems  you,  even  little  Sigis- 
mund  ;  and  if  I  can  trust  my  own  belief  and  the  declara- 
tions of'those  in  Germany  who  know  you  best,  you  must 
be  very  good." 

"  I  am  ver}r  happy  in  your  ladyship's  good  opinion,  and 


Halcyon  Days.  383 

wish  I  deserved  it.  Sigismund  first  fancied  me  on  ac- 
count of  my  horses,  but  I  really  think  he  has  much  grati- 
tude for  my  getting  him  out  of  that  burning  house  in 
which  he  came  so  near  being  roasted." 

"That  was  so  reckless  and  daring  in  you;  I  tremble 
for  your  life,  whenever  I  think  of  it.  You  are  a  great- 
hero  with  the  city  people  since.  I  hear  they  call 
you  the  American  prince.  I  once  thought  titles  and 
nobility  very  essential,  and  the  evening  we  first  met  I 
half  regretted  that  you  did  not  belong  to  our  class,  but  I 
have  come  to  regard  all  these  distinctions  of  rank  as  hu- 
man vanity,  and  you,  Mr.  Eustace,  have  taught  me  this 
lesson." 

"  Philip  raised  the  soft  hand  which  was  crossed  over  its 
mate  upon  a  marble  urn,  and  kissed  the  rosy  fingers  in 
token  of  his  thankfulness.  Looking  into  the  clear  depths 
of  the  beautiful  eyes  which  still  rested  upon  him,  he  read 
full  confirmation  of  all  she  had  said.  Who  could  listen 
to  such  words  under  similar  circumstances  and  remain 
unmoved  ?  Philip  Eustace's  heart  was  entirely  appreci- 
ative of  the  kindness  and  charms  of  the  young  countess, 
and  he  told  her  with  all  the  simplicity  of  his  nature  how 
deeply  he  felt.  He  had  no  intention  of  making  such  a 
declaration  as  to  lead  Theresa  to  believe  she  was  the  sole 
object  of  his  affections ;  but  she  knowing  the  deliberate 
moderation  of  Philip  in  all  things,  thought  it  full  of  love, 
for  him  from  whom  she  did  not  expect  the  usual  vows 
of  eternal  devotion.  A  light  of  satisfaction,  calm  and 
entire,  glowed  in  her  face  as  they  slowly  returned  to  the 
terrace  where  Sigismund  was  impatiently  awaiting  them. 
They  promised  to  meet  the  next  evening  at  the  opera- 
house,  and  the  stalwart  figure,  with  its  strange  attendant, 


cJSi  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

passed  swiftly  through  the  gathering  gloom  toward  the 
city  in  the  distance.  Up  the  broad  flight  of  steps  between 
the  great  stone  dragons  went  the  maiden  as  radiant  as  an 
angel  to  dream  of  her  new-found  joy. 

Philip  was  surprised,  on  his  return,  to  find  Frederick 
Compton  in  his  room  awaiting  his  arrival.  He  had  many 
questions  to  ask  in  relation  to  the  good  people  of  St.  Kilda 
valley,  now  not  seen  for  nearly  two  years.  Mr.  Grey  and 
Percival  St.  George  were  well,  and  Arthur  Kean  was  soon 
to  wed  Ida  Somerville.  This  was  not  unknown  to  Philip, 
for  he  had  received  a  letter  from  his  friend,  stating  that 
they  had  obtained  Mr.  Somerville's  consent  to  their  mar- 
riage in  the  ensuing  fall.  He  had  also  written  with 
bright  hopes  of  his  professional  success,  for  he  was  fast 
rising  to  eminence,  both  as  an  advocate  and  jurist.  Philip, 
also  having  recently  received  a  long  and  loving  letter 
from  Rosamond,  and  knowing  she  would  not  leave  school 
until  midsummer,  asked  no  questions  concerning  her. 
Compton  had  seen  her  just  before  leaving  America,  but 
said  nothing  of  his  visit  to  the  city  in  which  she  was 
living. 

Philip  had  never  dignified  Fredrick  Compton  with  any 
jealousy  as  his  rival,  although  he  had  long  known  the 
chief  desire  of  the  young  man  and  his  family  was  to  win 
Rosamond,  if  possible.  In  the  conscious  security  of  her 
love,  and  the  oft  expressed  wishes  of  her  mother,  the 
young  heir  of  the  house  of  Eustace  had  smiled  at  the 
aspirations  of  his  less  favored  competitor.  Compton  was 
not  a  man  to  be  easily  discouraged,  and  had  never  yet 
surrendered  the  hope  of  one  day  making  himself  the 
master  of  Thorndale  and  Ramilies.  Rosamond  had  fre- 
quently assured  him  that  she  loved  her  cousin,  and  would 


Halcyon  Days.  385 

someday  become  his  wife,  if  he  desired  it;  yet  such  avow- 
als, plain  as  they  were,  failed  to  shake  Frederick  in  his 
purpose;  for  he  believed  his  rival  cared  little  for  the 
family  arrangements.  He  supposed  from  Philip's  usual 
silence  on  the  subject  he  was  at  least  indifferent,  and  it 
was  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure  he  heard  Ludwig  Jagerndorf 
intimate  that  his  long  expected  means  of  success  was,  in 
some  degree,  assuming  a  promise  of  realization. 

Charles  Loundes  had  too  much  delicacy  of  feeling  to 
refer  to  the  subject  of  Philip's  visits  to  the  countess,  in 
the  presence  of  others,  and,  on  his  friend's  arrival,  simply 
inquired  after  the  health  of  the  countess  and  Baron  Wal- 
demar.  This  was  a  keen  disappointment  to  Compton, 
for  he  had  expected  from  the  friend's  love  of  raillery,  and 
the  usual  disposition  of  young  men  on  such  occasions, 
that  there  would  be  something  of  the  kind  to  give  him 
insight  into  the  true  state  of  the  case.  The  gravity  of 
Loundes'  inquiry  and  of  Philip's  reply  completely  upset 
his  calculations,  so  after  further  conversation,  promising 
to  see  them  again  on  the  morrow,  he  left  for  his  lodgings. 

Philip  was  too  thoughtful  to  be  communicative  that 
evening;  so  'Charles  Loundes  left  him  to  his  solitanr 
meditations,  and  went  in  search  of  the  lively  young  ladies 
who  were  singing  near  by.  To  most  men  of  his  age, 
Philip's  position  would  have  been  one  of  unalloyed  pleas- 
ure. The  countess'  love  had  been  too  plainly  evinced,, 
that  day,  for  him  not  to  perceive  it;  with  all  his  modesty 
and  self-depreciation.  He  had  never  spoken  of  his  en- 
gagement with  Rosamond  to  the  proud  descendant  of  so 
many  belted  earls,  simply  because  he  had  never  dreamed 
of  the  possibility  of  her  expecting  under  any  circum- 
stances an  offer  of  marriage  from  an  untitled  foreigner,. 
25 


386  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

who,  whatever  might  be  the  social  eminence  of  his  family 
at  home,  was  after  all  only  a  plain  citizen  of  a  republic. 
He  did  not  even  then  feel  satisfied  that  this  beautiful 
and  noble-minded  woman,  as  much  as  she  prized  the 
privilege  of  following  the  wishes  of  her  own  heart,  would 
disregard  the  long-reverenced  traditions  of  her  family, 
in  accepting  his  hand,  were  he  disposed  to  offer  it. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  to  ask  of  himself  what  was  to 
be  the  effect  of  this  attachment  on  her,  and  in  this  sue:- 
gestion  he  found  the  pain  and  difficulty  of  his  position. 
He  did  not  desire  to  throw  any  shadow  across  the  previ- 
ously sun-lit  pathway  of  beauty  and  innocence ;  but  it 
distressed  him  to  think  of  ending  the  pleasant  and  harm- 
less intercourse  between  them.  He  verv  well  knew,  as 
long  as  he  continued  to  treat  her  with  the  deference  and 
admiration  he  could  not  withhold,  and  she  was  convinced 
•of  the  feelings  on  his  part  he  had  that  evening  avowed, 
•so  long  would  she  entertain  every  sentiment  she  then 
experienced.  Whether  she  had  ever  thought  of  him  in 
connection  with  wedlock  he  was  wholly  ignorant ;  so 
trusting  to  her  purity  and  good  sense  he  hoped  for  the 
best  and  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  their  next 
meeting. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and  after  attending 
church,  Philip  and  Ludwig,  with  the  declining  sun,  again 
visited  the  old  minister.  The  artist  was  soon  to  depart 
on  his  long-desired  visit  to  Rome  ;  for  Philip  had  pur- 
chased many  of  his  finest  pictures  and  sent  them  to  his 
father,  thus  enabling  the  friend  to  accomplish  his  inten- 
sion, wThich  was  to  give  finish  to  a  mind  already  richly 
stored  with  the  great  lessons  of  the  beautifuh  This  would 
■probably  be  their  last  free  conference  together,  and  it  was 


Halcyon  Days.  387 

long  and   full  of   touching  assurances  of   esteem    from 
both. 

Philip  had  promised  to  call  for  Frederick  Compton  on 
his  way  to  the  opera-house,  the  evening  he  expected  to 
see  the  countess.  Sigismund,  as  usual  on  such  occasions, 
was  with  him,  and  while  Compton  was  perfecting  his 
elaborate  toilet,  to  meet  a  crowd  of  strangers,  the  dwarf 
amused  himself  by  swinging  by  his  teeth  from  a  table  in 
the  corner  of  the  room,  greatly  to  Frederick's  horror,  who 
imagined,  when  he  first  noticed  the  proceeding,  that  the 
imp  had  contrived  really  to  hang  himself.  At  last,  when 
these  preparations  were  completed,  and  they  had  reached 
their  evening's  destination,  the  performance  had  already 
commenced.  Philip  noticed,  as  he  conducted  Compton 
to  a  box,  that  the  countess  had  just  arrived  ;  so  apologi- 
zing for  leaving,  he  went  to  her  side. 

"  We  are  both  late  this  evening,"  said  he. 

"Yes,"  said  the  countess.  "I  thought  at  one  time,  I 
should  be  unable  to  fulfill  my  promise,  as  my  uncle  was 
indisposed,  and  I  was  unwilling  to  leave  him.  He,  know- 
ing my  engagement,  suggested  I  should  take  Madame 
von  Essling  as  my  escort." 

"  Permit  me  to  say  you  are  looking  unusually  well  this 
evening.  It  must  be  the  excitement  of  your  coming  al- 
most unattended  which  has  given  your  eyes  their  addi- 
tional lustre." 

"lain  happy  that  they  please  you,"  said  the  countess  ; 
and  the  beautiful  orbs  rested  upon  him  for  a  moment 
with  an  expression  which  put  to  flight  half  of  his  good 
resolutions. 

The  opera  for  the  evening  was  Mozart's  Don  Juan,  or, 
as  the  Italians  call  it,  Giovanni,  the  most  wonderful  aiwi 


388  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

comprehensive  work'of  such  character  yet  created  for  the 
amusement  of  mankind.  The  countess  was  in  that  state 
of  delicious  contentment  which  is  satisfied  with  a  limited 
amount  of  speech;  and  as  Philip  had  not  witnessed  a 
previous  production  of  the  musical  Shakspeare's  chef- 
d'oeuvre,  they  were  frequently  silent :  he  rapt  in  the 
progress  of  the  scenes,  and  the  radiant  beauty  in  silent 
observation,  as  the  grand  and  ludicrous,  so  strangely 
blended  in  the  great  performance,  were  depicted  in  the 
varying  expressions  of  his  countenance. 

"  We  seem  very  attractive  to  the  gentleman  who  sits 
opposite,"  said  the  countess.     "Do  you  know  him?" 

"  He  is  an  American  acquaintance  of  mine,"  said 
Philip,  "  and  was  doubtless  attracted  by  yonv  appearance  ;• 
but  he  seems  now  very  much  engrossed  with  the  stage." 

Frederick  Compton  was  manifestly  determined  to  see 
everything  his  opera  glasses  would  disclose  of  what  passed 
between  Philip  and  the  countess,  for  he  had  been  indus- 
triously gazing  in  their  direction  the  whole  evening, 
whenever  PhiJip  was  not  looking  toward  him;,  at  such 
times  he  became  apparently  absorbed  in  the  proceedings 
on  the  stage.  The  countess,  like  a  true  belle,  was  of 
course  alive  to  the  necessity  of  seeing  who  of  her  ac- 
quaintances were  present,  and  had  thus  several  times  ob- 
served the  closeness  of  Compton's  scrutiny. 

The  opera  was  finished,  and  the  ladies  of  the  ballet  had 
retired  from  view7,  and  doffed  their  tinsel  finery.  The 
manager  had  recovered  his  temper,  and  the  musicians- 
had  ceased  to  labor  at  their  instruments.  The  lights  were 
all  extinguished,  and  the  hall,  a  few  minutes  previously 
a  fairy  scene,  was  now  as  dark  as  Erebus.  Like  other 
human  vanities,  the  splendor  had  all  vanished  into  ray- 


Halcgon  Days.  389 

less  dark d ess,  and  a  trembling  mouse  crept  from  under 
the  stage,  the  sole  occupant  of  a  room  so  shortly  before 
gorgeous  enough  for  Titania's  revels.  Philip  accompanied 
the  countess  and  Madam  von  Essling  to  their  home.  As 
they  left  the  carriage  they  paused  to  gaze  upon  the  castle 
glorified  in  the  splendor  of  a  full-orbed  moon. 

"  Schulemberg  castle  never  appeared  to  me  so  fair  as  it 
does  this  night,"  said  the  countess,  leaning  upon  the  arm 
•of  him  at  her  side ;  and  then  softly  added.:  "  For  you  were 
not  here  to  view  it  with  me/' 

Philip's  only  answer  was  a  silent  pressure  of  the  hand 
he  held  in  his  own.  He  was  strangely  moved  with  the 
weird  loveliness  of  all  things  around  him,  and  was  loth 
to  lose  the  beauty  which  seemed  born  as  of  some  subtle 
enchantment.     He  thought  of  Melrose  Abbey: 


•"When  the  broken  arehes  are  black  in  night, 
And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white, 
When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 
Streams  on  the  ruin'd  central  tower  ; 
When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately:, 
:Seemed  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory." 


390  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kild&>. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PALLIDA    MORS. 

"What  is  it  that  will  last? 
All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become- 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past. 
Let  us  alone.    What  pleasure  can  we  have- 
To  war  with  evil.    Is  there  any  peace 
In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave? 
All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave^ 
In  silence  ripen,  fall  and  cease." 

The  Lotos-Eaters^ 

The  summer  glided  by,  until  the  increasing  wealth 
of  vegetation  reached  its  climax  of  development,  and 
then,  with  the  gradual  shortening  of  the  term  of  each  day's 
light,  commenced  nature's  process  of  deterioration  in  the 
freshness  hitherto  observable  in  the  witching  domain  of 
Flora.  In  his  observation  of  the  changing  aspect  of  the 
fields,  this  was  always  a  season  of  saddened  interest  to 
Philip  Eustace.  Having  watched  with  joy  the  beautiful 
progressions  ever  going  on  in  the  summer  months  in  the 
myriad  forms  of  vegetation,  he  continued  his  scrutiny 
through  the  autumn.  In  the  springhe  watched  the  ten- 
der shoots  and  half  opened  buds  conveying  prophecies 
of  almost  impossible  beauty  in  the  coming  hour  of  ma- 
turity and  fruition.  At  such  a  season  the  very  songs  of 
the  birds  seemed  to  him  redolent  of  some  delicious  expec- 
tation, all  the  more  charming  in  the  fact  of  its  dim  and; 
unascertained  character.  He  had  often  wondered  at  this- 
vague  and  shadowy  longing  in  his  own  heart,  and  felt 
that  there  must  be  some  law  of  affinity  controlling  and 
connecting  all  God's  creation.      He  knew  that  certain 


Pallida   Mors.  391 

dreamers  in  philosophy  held  that  all  organic  life  consists 
but  in  a  series  of  developments  from  one  and  the  same 
inferior  source,  but  no  such  pantheistic  subtleties  mingled 
in  his  steady  and  delighted  attention  to  those  things 
which  in  his  heart  he  was  assured  had  been  placed  on 
earth  for  gratification  ard  instruction. 

Frederick  Compton  made  but  a  short  stay  with  him 
for  whose  society  he  had  manifested  so  much  anxiety,  in 
his  hurried  approach.  A  look  of  satisfaction,  wholly  new 
to  him,  was  observable,  and  he  went  off,  to  loiter  away 
months  of  listless  inactivity.  Lad  wig  Jagerndorf  had 
been  for  some  time  in  his  new  studio  at  Rome  and  wrote 
Philip  long  letters  describing  his  residence  in  the  old? 
mouldering  palace  so  typical  of  the  waning  glories  of 
the  city  in  which  it  stood.  The  Countess  of  Schulemberg, 
also,  was  temporarily  absent.  As  much  as  her  heart 
yearned  to  remain,  there  were  still  duties  which  affection 
for  her  uncle  compelled  her  to  regard,  in  spite  of  their 
conflict  with  her  own  inclinations.  The  brave  and  time- 
worn  soldier  had  given  the  best  efforts  of  his  declining 
years  to  the  furtherance  of  her  fortunes  and  happiness. 
Among  the  few  gratifications  he  had  left  to  himself,  in 
his  devotion  to  his  neice,  was  his  annual  trip  to  the  wat- 
ering places,  and  even  in  this  he  was  mindful  of  her, 
as  much  as  he  enjoyed  his  game  at  the  roulette  table  and 
the  society  of  the  surviving  comrades  of  old  campaigning 
times. 

He  considered  that  her  brilliant  loveliness  needed  an 
airing  thinking  her  young  life  must  grow  dull  in  the 
quiet  and  seclusion  of  the  castle.  In  these  views  he  had 
been  entirely  right,  and  conformable  to  the  desires  of  the 
countess  until  that  season ;  but  she  knew  it  would  seem 


392  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

unreasonable  to  the  baron,  to  appear  unwilling  to  keep 
up  this  habit  and  complied  with  his  wishes,  with  a  show 
of  the  utmost  cheerfulness.  Among  people  gathered  from 
so  many  different  countries,  Theresa  of  Schulemberg,  in 
the  bloom  of  her  radiant  youth,  lived  in  the  realm  of  her 
own  thoughts,  even  while  laughing  and  coquetting  with 
her  admiring  beaux.  Baden-Baden  supposed  that  her 
triumphs  of  that  season  were  brilliant  enough  to  satisfy 
an  empress,  and  the  giddy  throng  went  on  with  its  danc- 
ing, its  gambling,  and  double  intoxication  from  love  and 
wine ;  but  there  was  one  who  shone  as  the  queen  of  the 
revel,  who  in  her  heart  felt  and  despised  the  emptiness 
of  all  such  pageants. 

Philip  was  now  profiting  to  the  utmost  of  his  ability 
by  the  opportunities  yet  remaining  to  him  at  the  uni- 
versity. The  arts  and  Roman  jurisprudence  were  his 
principal  studies,  and  as  Charles  Loundes  and  he  would 
leave  the  institution  in  a  few  months,  they  both  more 
than  ever  appreciated  the  pleasure  of  their  lives  for  the 
last  two  years.  The  seats  under  the  linden  tree  in  the 
court  yard  had  not  yet  been  abandoned  by  the  family  of 
Counsellor  Strauss,  and  cheerful  repasts  were  still  spread 
beneath  its  protecting  shade,  though  the  velvety  sward 
around  had  lost  much  of  its  freshness.  One  evening  as 
the  family  were  seated  there,  Philip  and  Loundes  came 
in  from  a  walk  and  found  a  telegraphic  dispatch,  stating 
that  Gov.  Eustace  lay  dangerously  ill  in  Paris,  and  desir- 
ed his  son  to  come  at  once  to  his  bedside. 

Philip  knew  that  his  father  had  long  suffered  from  an 
organic  derangement  of  the  valves  of  the  heart,  and  had 
been  frequently  told  by  him  that  physicians  thought 
that  while  by  prudence   his  life  might  be  prolonged  to 


Pallida  Mors.  393 

old  age,  yet  such  was  the  uncertainty  of  his  malady,  he 
was  prepared  at  any  moment  to  die  under  its  effects.  He 
did  not  wonder  that  this  dreadful  uncertainty  brought 
with  it  but  little  terror  to  one  who  thus  continually  faced 
the  most  direful  of  all  human  apprehensions  but  was 
filled  with  admiration  that  his  father  could  still  preserve 
his  genial  warmth  and  humor.  To  the  careless  observer, 
Gov.  Eustace  seemed  gifted  with  an  unfailing  supply  of 
pleasant  fancies;  but  Philip  well  knew  under  all  that 
charming  mirth  lay  the  watchful  intelligence  which,  as  a 
sleepless  sentinel,  was  ever  looking  for  the  death  which  at 
any  time  might  be  close  at  hand. 

As  the  young  student  traversed  the  famous  region  of 
the  Rhine,  though  he  looked  out  upon  its  beauties  and 
saw  the  tall  battlements  of  ruined  castles,  yet  he  was 
too  profoundly  depressed  for  the  enjoyment  of  either  art 
or  nature.  Grief  was  an  emotion  to  which  he  was  unac- 
customed ;  for  his  mother  had  died  when  he  was  so  young 
he  failed  to  appreciate  the  extent  of  his  loss  at  the  time; 
and  his  uncle  Stanhope  was  the  dearest  friend  he  had 
ever  mourned  since  he  was  old  enough  to  value  the  worth 
of  those  beloved  for  their  own  merits  and  the  ties  of  kin- 
dred blood.  But  few  hours  elapsed  from  the  reception  of 
the  telegram,  before  the  dying  father  was  gladdened  in 
the  arrival  of  the  son.  Philip  had  ever  been  dutiful  and 
was  now  peculiarly  the  centre  of  all  those  fading  hopes 
so  long  cherished  by  him  whose  lease  of  mortal  life  was 
near  its  termination.  In  the  stalwart  and  affectionate 
brother,  Gov.  Eustace  was  assured  that  Mariana  would 
find  abundant  love  and  protection. 

The  envoy  had  been  an  ambitious  man,  but  the  taint 
of  selfishness  was  not  in  his  nature.     He  had  been  much 


394  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

separated  from  his  children,  but  this  grew  out  of  his  de- 
votion to  their  well-being.  Had  he  consulted  his  feelings 
he  would  have  kept  them  with  him  ;  but  he  knew  that 
his  own  mother  would  better  supply  the  place  of  her  who 
was  sleeping  beneath  the  sod  of  Ellesmere  than  any  one 
whose  services  could  be  secured  for  money.  Another 
man  would  have  probably  supplied  his  own  and  his  chil- 
dren's wants  by  the  selection  of  a  second  wife.  It  may 
have  been  a  romantic  and  ill-advised  idea  in  him,  but 
Ashton  Eustace  could  not  forget  ihe  being  he  saw  renewed 
in  his  daughter,  and  there  was  a  strong  conviction,  which 
he  never  sought  to  weaken,  that  somewhere  amid  the 
isles  of  the  blest  her  tender  eyes  were  looking  upon  him 
and  awaiting  his  coming.  The  thought  of  giving  this 
love  to  another,  which  still  was  hers,  was  revolting  to  his 
sensitive  nature.  The  subject  of  his  marking  again  was 
the  only  theme  upon  which  he  was  not  full  of  pleasant 
badinage,  for  he  turned  with  disgust  from  unions  of  mere 
convenience,  considering  the  nuptial  tie,  when  unsancti- 
fied  by  absorbing  love,  a  degrading  and  brutal  relation. 
On  his  arrival,  Philip  was  met  at  the  door  of  the  sick- 
room by  his  grandfather  who  could  only  grasp  his  hand 
in  silence,  and  to  the  eager  inquiry  as  to  the  father's  con- 
dition,-Judge  Eustace  replied  that  he  was  still  alive.  Mrs. 
Eustace  was  supporting  the  head  of  her  son,  as  Philip 
entered  the  room,  while  Mariana  knelt  by  the  bedside 
holding  one  of  the  feeble  hands.  Gov.  Eustace  had  fallen 
into  a  gentle  slumber,  so  Philip,  with  silent  kisses  to  the 
two  watchers,  took  his  seat  and  looked  at  the  pale  face  of 
the  sufferer.  The  doctor,  who  was  present,  had  been  un- 
remitting in  his  attentions  since  this  last  fatal  attack,  and 
sat  realizing  the  futility  of  his  art   in  the  treatment  of 


Pallida    Mors.  395 

organic  disorders  like  that  under  which  his  patient  was 
now  sinking,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  the  contrary. 

Anguish  filled  the  bosom  of  the  son,  as  he  gazed  on  the 
unconscious  face  of  him  who  was-  the  author  of  his  being, 
and  whose  devoted  kindness  had  been  so  invariably  at- 
tested through  all  the  period  to  which  his  memory  ex- 
tended. He  recalled  the  numberless  instances  of  his 
father's  tender  regard, and  now  that  everything  indicated 
he  was  about  to  lose  him  on  the  verge  of  their  long-antici- 
pated tour  of  Europe,  and  from  the  quiet  hom^  life  after- 
ward in  St.  Kilda  valley,  arose  an  agony  of  grief  in  his 
soul.  With  a  strong  effort  he  put  back  the  tears  which 
were  welling,  up,  and  had  recovered  some  degree  of  com- 
posure, when  he  observed  his  father's  brow  contract  as  if 
in  pain,  followed  by  his  starting  up  from  sleep  and  gasp- 
ing for  breath.  Gov.  Eustace  appeared  to  be  dying,  but 
his  crippled  heart  still  preserved  enough  vitality  to  dis- 
gorge itself,  and,  with  a  look  of  exhaustion,  the  envoy 
fell  back  with  closed  eyes  in  his  mother's  arms.  He  was 
silent  for  a  minute,  when  he  fondly  kissed  the  tear- 
bedewed  cheek  above  him,  and  remarked  : 

"Dear  mother,  this  is  a  cruel  blow  to  you,  already 
bowed  under  affliction.     How  long  have  I  slept?" 

"  Nearly  a  half  hour,  my  son." 

"  It  must  be  time  for  Philip's  arrival." 

"You  seem  to  rest  more  easily,"  said  the  doctor,  who 
had  led  Philip  behind  the  head  of  the  bed  during  his 
father's  paroxysm.  "  I  expect,  sir,  your  son  is  close  at 
hand  by  this  time;  but  pray  do  not  yield  to  your  emo- 
tions when  you  see  him." 

"  I  understand  the  necessity  of  caution,"  said  the 
sufferer. 


396  The  Heirs  of  B.  Kildcu 

"  M.  Philip,  then  you  can  speak  to  your  father." 

Their  greeting,  with  all  this  precaution,  strongly 
affecfed  both,  but  in  a  few  moments  they  were  calm 
-enough  for  the  slight  conversation  allowable  under  the 
circumstances.  The  physician  cautioned  them  against 
prolonged  conferences,  and  having  other  duties  requiring 
his  attention,  took  his  leave  for  the  morning.  For  several 
days  the  fluctuating  tide  of  life  alternately  gave  promise 
of  recovery,  and  then  by  return  of  the  spasmodic  action 
of  the  heart  these  newly-formed  hopes  were  dissipated. 
Gov.  Eustace,  fearful  of  injury  to  Mariana's  recovered 
vision,  would  not  allow  her  to  watch  long  by  his  bedside 
at  night,  so  the  task  of  continuous  vigilance  was  divided 
between  Philip  and  his  grandparents.  Late  on  the  third 
night  after  his  arrival,  the  son  was  keeping  solitary  vigil. 
Judge  Eustace  was  asleep  in  an  adjoining  room,  and  the 
watch-worn  mother  was  taking  a  short  respite  on  a  lounge 
near  the  bed.  For  several  hours  the  sick  man  had  slept 
peacefully,  but  Philip  observed  the  ominous  contraction 
•of  the  brow,  and  the  next  moment  the  gasping  for  breath 
had  commenced.  The  struggle  for  sometime  seemed 
hopeless,  and  it  awakened  Mrs.  Eustace,  who  was  fast  con- 
cluding all  was  over  when  Gov.  Eustace  again  spoke. 

"  These  sufferings  will  soon  be  past,"  said  he,  taking 
the  hands  of  each,  "  for  a  new  sensation  of  relief,  and  at 
the  same  time  of  further  weakness,  has  come  upon  me. 
lam  confident  I  shall  not  live  until  daylight." 

"  Dear  Ashton,"  said  his  mother,  "  do  not  give  way  to 
your  feelings." 

Gov.  Eustace  told  his  mother  that  he  felt  as  calm  as  if 
he  had  never  experienced  a  trouble  in  his  life.  He  assured 
her  that  her  own  teachings  in  childhood  had  guided  him 


Pallida  Mors.  397 

through  all  the  devious  windings  of  his  course,  and  that 
the  death  he  knew  to  be  near  at  hand,  was  thus  shorn  of 
terror.  Dr.  Velpeau  had  cautioned  him  against  talking, 
but  that  was  when  the  physician  had  hopes  of  his  recov- 
er}'. Now  he  was  dying,  he  would  not  longer  forbear 
what  had  been  previously  withheld  through  respect  for 
the  opinions  of  his  medical  adviser. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you,  Philip,  that  I  fear  my 
strength  will  be  unequal  to  the  task.  You  have  been  so 
dutiful  all  your  days,  and  have  given  me  so  much  com- 
fort, that  it  is  now  my  only  source  of  satisfaction  and 
content  in  this  dispensation  of  Providence.  I  should  be 
troubled  for  Mariana,  but  I  know  that  in  you  she  will 
have  a  protector  in  whose  kindness  and  forethought  I 
have  all  confidence.  I  leave  her  to  your  charge,  mj^son, 
when  age  shall  have  removed  the  loving  supervision  of 
my  own  parents,  and  I  know  that  I  need  say  nothing  of 
your  conduct  toward  them.  They  have  been  the  authors 
of  your  own  excellence,  and  I  am  confident,  while  they 
live,  you  will  continue  to  heed  and  reverence  their  wishes. 
I  had  promised  myself  much  comfort  in  your  society 
during  the  remainder  of  my  life,  for  my  resignation  of 
the  post  I  now  hold  was  forwarded  to  Washington  a  month 
ago;  but  it  has  pleased  God  I  should  die  in  the  harness 
which  has  so  long  galled  me.  It  has  pleased  Him  to  de- 
stroy my  anticipations,  and  I  uncomplainingly  submit  to 
His  decree.  If  you,  my  son,  and  Rosamond  love  each 
other,  as  I  hope  you  do,  always  recollect  that  my  last  ex- 
pressed wish  was  for  your  union.  I  have  only  now,  dear 
Philip,  to  give  you  my  parting  blessing,  and  pray  if  you 
shall  live  to  have  a  son  of  your  own,  he  may  be  of  as 
much  comfort  and  pride  as  you  have  ever  been  to  me." 


398  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

Philip,  at  his  father's  request,  summoned  Judge  Eustace 
and  Mariana,  and  from  his  calmness  they  thought  him 
mistaken  in  the  nearness  of  approaching  dissolution. 
After  a  half  hour  spent  in  loving  assurances,  having 
taken  leave  of  all,  he  fell  into  quiet  slumber,  and  as  the 
faint  uleam  of  morn  shone  through  the  closed  windows, 
the  watchful  mother  noticed  that  breathing  had  ceased. 
Upon  examination  they  found  that  the  orator  and  states- 
man had  closed  his  mortal  career,  and  was  fast  asleep  in 
death. 

The  gloom  that  settled  on  the  foreign  home  of  the 
family,  previously  so  happy,  was  too  deep  to  desire  obser- 
vation ;  so,  with  as  little  ostentation  as  possible,  in  view 
of  the  public  importance  of  the  position  recently  rilled 
by  the  distinguished  dead,  the  body  was  removed  by  the 
stricken  father  to  the  quiet  of  the  family  burial  place  at 
Ellesmere. 

On  the  evening  previous  to  Philip's  departure  from 
Paris,  he  was  alone  in  one  of  the  saloons  of  the  large  sil- 
ent house,  wondering  at  the  fortitude  displayed  by  his 
grandmother  under  her  present  loss,  when  she  had  so 
nearly  perished  in  her  grief  for  his  uncle  Stanhope.  He 
well  knew  if  there  was  any  difference  in  her  love  for  her 
two  sons,  it  was  in  favor  of  her  first-born ;  yet  the  dis- 
position which  had  been  so  full  of  sunshine  previous  to 
the  soldier's  death  seemed  almost  hopelessly  clouded  sub- 
sequently, but  now  after  a  passionate  flood  of  tears  she 
manifested  a  serenity  in  striking  contrast  to  the  tremu- 
lous, unspoken  despair  evident  in  every  lineament  of  her 
husband.  The  tenderness  of  the  wife  locked  up  the 
mother's  grief  in  her  own  heart,  and  found  comfort  in 
her  efforts  to  bring  alleviation  to  the  bruised  heart  of  the 


Pallida  Mors.  399 

suffering  father.  lie  had  now  surrendered  to  the  good 
of  the  land  he  had  so  faithfully  served  both  of  the  sons 
whose  own  worth  and  reverence  for  himself  had  been  so 
dear  to  his  declining  age.  The  wise,  undemonstrative 
man  ivas  in  .an  agony  of  desolation  unknown  to  more 
elastic  and  imaginative  dispositions,  and  his  wife  and 
grandchildren  found  that  he  needed  all  their  loving 
sympathy  in  his  dire  extremity. 

Philip  returned  to  Germany  with  a  heavy  heart  and 
his  sad  face  told  the  =tory  of  his  loss.  Charles  Loundes 
had  a  double  cause  for  joining  in  his  melancholy.  He 
was  grieved  for  the  sake  of  the  friend,  and  felt  that 
Europe  was  shorn  of  attraction  in  the  departure  of  Mari- 
ana Eustace  from  its  limits.  Usually  hope  is  an  import- 
ant element  in  the  passion  of  love,  being  the  fuel  which 
continually  adds  to  the  pictures  of  expected  joy,  and  with 
its  destruction  in  most  breasts,  the  adored  object  becomes 
a  dim  remembrance  of  the  past.  Petrarch  loved  his 
Laura,  and  Dante  his  Beatrice,  long  after  the  stimulus 
of  this  emotion  had  passed  away,  and  the  emotions  of  the 
great  Florentine  appeared  to  have  deepened  with  the  dis- 
appearance of  his  mistress  from  the  land  of  the  living. 
Charles  Loundes  had  much  of  this  tendency  in  his  nature. 
He  still  cherished  a  hope,  however  faint,  that  there  would 
be  a  change  in  Mariana's  disposition,  and  that  she  would 
mingle  more  of  earthly  emotion  in  the  purity  of  her  re- 
gard for  him.  He  felt  certain  she  was  not  indifferent  to 
his  happiness,  and  this  assurance  was  to  him  a  source  of 
the  most  delicious  dreams  of  his  life. 

With  the  falling  leaves,  returned  to  the  halls  of  her 
fathers  the  brilliant  Countess  of  Schulembenr.  The  sav 
life  she  had  been  recently  leading  bed  necessarily  induced 


400  Ihe  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

many  reflections  as  to  the  nature  and  probable  result  of 
her  still  fondly  cherished  regard  for  Philip  Eustace,  and 
there  was  a  modification  of  her  disposition  toward  him. 
Her  admiration  was  in  nowise  decreased,  but  in  the 
throng  of  men  and  women  among  whom  she  had  been 
latterly  moving,  were  many  like  herself,  belonging  to  a 
titled  aristocracy,  devoted  to  those  ideas  which  sustain 
the  long-established  gradations  of  society.  The  solitude 
of  her  life  among  her  dependants  in  the  old  castle  had 
created,  with  the  dawn  of  great  emotions,  a  feeling  of  in- 
dependence and  disregard  tor  her  own  caste.  Amid  the 
close  comparisons  which  always  force  themselves  upon 
the  mind  in  resorts  where  persons  of  mixed  claims  to  the 
world's  respect  jostle  each  other  as  they  do  at  watering 
places,  the  countess'  disposition  to  disregard  her  own  sta- 
tion was  weakened.  She  had  seen  no  one  among  the 
noblemen  to  whom  she  was  willing  to  give  more  than  a 
fleeting  thought;  but  as  she  recalled  the  warmth  of  many 
of  their  protestations  of  devotion,  she  could  but  remember, 
with  some  pique,  that  Philip  had  been  but  chary  in  those 
avowals  which  are  such  delicious  incense  to  ever}'-  pretty 
woman.  Blushes  of  dissatisfaction  with  herself  would 
sometimes  mantle  her  face  when  alone,  and  it  occurred 
to  her  that  perhaps  Philip  had  thought  her  too  demon- 
strative toward  him  ;  so  with  fresh  convictions  of  the  duty 
she  owed  her  rank  as  the  Countess  of  Schulemberg  and  to 
herself  as  a  beautiful,  all-conquering  belle,  she  returned 
to  her  home.  Having  been  several  da}rs  without  seeing 
Philip,  she  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  failing  to  visit 
her,  when  one  morning  the  Baron  Waldemar,  who  had 
been  to  the  city,  remarked  : 

"  I  have  seen  our  friend,  Mr.  Eustace,  to  day,  and  found 


Pallida  Mors.  401 

him  suffering  from  indisposition  and  affliction  at  the 
recent  loss  of  his  father." 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  him,"  said  the  countess.  "It  is 
very  strange  that  an  envoy's  death  should  not  have  been 
announced  in  the  papers." 

"  It  doubtless  was,  but  when  did  we  think  of  papers  at 
Baden-Baden.  He  says  he  will  soon  leave  us  to  com- 
mence his  travels." 

"  Did  he  promise  to  see  us  before  he  leaves?" 

"  Yes,  so  soon  as  his  health  permits." 

Philip  had  been  sick  for  several  days,  and  had  not  left 
his  room  when  the  baron  went  to  visit  for  him.  Thero 
were  mutual  feelings  of  respect  between  the  two,  and 
though  at  times  the  embodiment  of  the  exclusive  pride 
of  birth  in  Europe  was  slightly  uneasy  at  the  evident 
interest  manifested  by  his  niece  toward  the  citizen  strang- 
er from  America,  it  was  attributed  to  grateful  remem- 
brance of  services  rendered  at  their  first  interview. 

He  recognized  in  Philip  Eustace  a  brave  and  consci- 
entious man,  and  toward  such  he  was  ever  kindly  appre- 
ciative, and  in  this  way  reposed  much  confidence  in  the 
young  representative  of  democratic  sentiment,  to  the 
growth  of  which  he  was  thoroughly  opposed. 

Philip,  in  the  first  full  appreciation  of  his  loss  in  the 
death  of  his  father,  had  felt  very  sorely  the  extent  of  his 
privation  ;  but  that  higher  trust  which  had  so  often  lifted 
him  above  the  tainting  influences  of  success  now  became 
a  support  and  consolation  in  the  hour  of  his  bereavement. 
Gov.  Eustace's  death  had  not  been  unexpected,  and  he 
had  heard  from  the  lips  of  him  who  was  now  gone  fre- 
quent premonitions  of  the  stealthy  enemy  ever  ready  for 
the  fatal  attack.  Weeks  had.  stolen  by  and  the  cruel. 
26 


402  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

freshness  of  the  gap  in  his  heart  was  healed  over  by  the 
blessed  soothing  which  God  in  his  mercy  has  granted  to 
the  effects  of  time  in  the  direst  calamities.  The  loving- 
father  was  still  fresh  in  his  remembrance,  but  it  was  with 
that  softened  recollection  which  in  well  ordered  disposi- 
tions occasions  little  suffering,  as  the  mind  recalls  the 
image  of  the  cherished  and  the  lost. 

His  innocent  pleasures  were  now  as  sweet  as  before,  and 
his  satisfaction,  consequent  upon  a  sense  of  duty  dis- 
charged at  the  close  of  the  day,  was  as  full  as  ever.  He 
was  alone,  one  evening,  when  a  gentle  rap  at  the  door  was 
heard,  and  in  the  deepening  twilight  Sigismund  came 
quietly  into  the  room.  The  dwarf  had  understood  he  was 
about  to  lose  the  company  of  Philip  and  his  horses,  and, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  half-witted  creature  ex- 
hibited concern  at  what  yet  lacked  days  of  its  accomplish- 
ment. He  had  seemed,  hitherto,  wholly  to  fail  of  appre- 
ciation, when  told  by  his  mother  that  at  some  day  he 
would  suffer  for  misdeeds  in  life.  He  seemed  powerless 
to  grasp  any  joy  or  sorrow  of  the  future,  and  never  antici- 
pated the  morrow's  pleasures.  Philip  was  much  astonish- 
ed that  Sigismund  should  manifest  feeling  at  his  early 
departure,  and  was  touched  by  the  mute  sorrow  which 
was  apparent  in  the  large,  strange  eyes. 

The  subject  of  his  final  interview  with  the  Countess  of 
Schulemberg  was  much  pondered.  He  was  not  certain 
that  any  explanations  would  be  necessary.  If  she  regard- 
ed their  intercourse  in  the  light  he  hoped,  all  would  be 
well.  He  could  say  farewell,  having  assured  her  of  his 
admiration  and  esteem,  and  his  departure  would,  perhaps, 
be  marked  with  no  sadder  consequence  than  her  shedding 
a  few  bitter  tears.     Then  he  reflected  what  he  should  do 


Pallida  Mors.  403 

in  the  event  of  her  saying  something  calling  for  a  full 
confession  of  his  disposition  toward  her.  In  that  case  he 
resolved  she  should  know  all  the  story  of  his  love  for 
Rosamond,  the  wishes  of  his  family,  and  his  own  plight- 
ed faith.  Then  if  blame  should  be  attached  to  his  not 
making  this  avowal  earlier,  he  would  tell  of  his  unwilling- 
ness to  obtrude  his  own  individual  concerns  uncalled  for 
upon  her  notice.  He  hoped,  with  these  reasons  for  his 
conduct,  he  could  take  his  leave  and  still  be  remembered 
with  no  bitterness. 

He  regretted  that  Charles  Loundes  had  not  told  the 
countess  the  story  of  his  love  for  his  cousin;  but  he  had 
never  directly  asked  his  friend  to  do  so,  and  once,  when 
he  had  intimated  such  a  thing,  Charles  had  opposed  it, 
saying  Philip  should  not  thus  make  a  gratuitous  exposure 
of  his  affairs,  which  might  be  considered  unnecessary 
and  impertinent  under  the  circumstances.  Philip,  of 
course,  said  nothing  to  his  companion  conveying  the  im- 
pression that  he  thought  the  countess  would  be  distressed 
at  his  departure,  and  Loundes  never  considered  that  pos- 
sible with  a  lady  of  fashion.  He  held  that  with  belles, 
who  have  experience  and  tact,  it  was  legitimate  to  flirt  to 
any  extent  short  of  a  positive  engagement  to  marry,  and 
with  Philip  he  knew  such  a  thing  was  impossible. 

Thoughtful  of  his  demeanor  in  this  interview,  which 
he  felt  was  to  be  their  last,  Philip  had  accepted  Baron 
Waldemar's  invitation  to  dine  at  the  castle.  The  countess 
had  formed  many  resolutions  as  to  her  conduct  toward 
him  ;  but  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  traces  of  grief  and  re- 
cent illness,  from  which  he  was  still  imperfectly  recov- 
ered, grew  half-repentant  as  she  met  his  frank  gaze.  She 
greeted  him  with  expressions  of  tender  sympathy,  and 


404  The  Heirs  of  Si.  Kilda, 

they  were  soon  discussing  the  intended  route  of  Iiis= 
travels.  He  was  to  send  his  baggage  by  railway  to  Paris, 
and,  with  Charles  Loundes,  to  pass  on  horse-back  down 
the  Rhine  into  Holland,  as  he  desired  to  send  his  horses 
to  America  from  some  of  the  Dutch  seaports.  In  the 
evening  the  countess  and  he  made  an  excursion  over 
the  road  she  had  gone  the  afternoon  of  their  first  inter- 
view. Theresa,  in  her  black  velvet  riding  habit,  and  the 
long  sable  plume  drooping  over  her  golden  hair,  was 
never  more  lovely ;  and  Philip)  could  but  gaze  at  the 
beautiful  figure  aglow  with  health  and  grace.  She  was 
very  quiet  and  thoughtful,  evidently  thinking  of  his  ap- 
proaching departure,  a  subject  he  was  disposed  to  evade 
in  his  conversation. 

"  I  hear,"  said  he,  "  that  your  stay  at  Baden-Baden  was 
unusually  pleasant  this  season." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  feel  some  pleasure  in  the  little 
rivalries  which  spring  up  at  such  places  between  persons 
of  my  age  and  sex.  I  know  it  is  a  small  thing,  but  one 
cannot  help  being  pleased  with  victory  on  such  occasions." 

"  I  believe  any  species  of  emulation  is  attractive  to 
both  sexes,  and  think  it  quite  as  reasonable  that  a  lady 
should  enjoy  the  honor  of  the  largest  attendance,  as  for 
men,  who  have  already  money  enough,  to  waste  the  night 
on  the  chance  of  winning  more  at  roulette." 

"  I  am  called  a  belle,"  said  the  countess,  "  and  am 
honest  enough  to  confess  I  find  pleasure  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  I  possess  qualities  which  usually  attract  at-. 
tention.  I  know  this  is  vanity,  but  what  is  hu- 
man life  but  vanity  ?  You  men  frequently  wear  your- 
selves down  with  long  speeches,  but  is  not  the  orator's 


Pallida  Mors.  405 

charm  found  in  the  consciousness  that  so  many  are  hang- 
ing upon  his  words?" 

"  Yes,  there  are  many  men  who  make  speeches  with 
no  higher  motive,  but  in  such  case  I  have  never  known 
•one  to  rise  to  heights  entitling  him  to  the  grand  appella- 
tion of  orator.  Demosthenes,  periling  his  life  in  denun- 
ciation of  the  Macedonian's  designs  upon  his  country ; 
•Cicero,  disregarding  the  danger  of  Catiline's  resentment 
and  exposing  conspiracy;  or  Edmund  Burke,  fired  with 
the  knowledge  that  Hastings  had  waded  to  riches  through 
the  tears  and  blood  of  oppressed  millions,  were  the  occa- 
sions when  great  natures,  in  the  glory  of  integrity,  be- 
came superior  to  the  petty  vanity  of  hearing  themselves 
•speak." 

"  I  expect  you  will  be  an  orator  yourself,  if  you  can 
defend  them  so  eloquently  to  so  poor  an  audience  as 
myself." 

"No;  my  father  assured,  me,  as  I  valued  my  peace  of 
mind,  I  should  avoid  public  life.  There  will  be  hundreds 
of  human  beings  dependant  on  my  sense  of  justice  and 
•care  for  their  happiness,  and  as  they  are  my  hereditary 
subjects,  I  shall  strive  to  do  my  utmost  for  their  comfort." 

"  If  the  world  were  composed  of  such  men  as  you,  I 
should  be  in  love  with  your  American  system  of  slavery, 
which,  in  that  event,  would  afford  the  weak  and  ignorant 
so  much  protecting  kindness." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  lady  Theresa,  but  I  fear  you  over- 
estimate my  worth.  Wherever  I  shall  bear  rule  in  life,  I 
shall  consider  it  a  high  duty  to  be  thoughtful  of  those 
having  a  right  to  expect  attention  from  me." 

"  That  is  what  I  know,"  said  the  countess,  "  and  I  wish 
you  had  been  born  the  sovereign  prince  of  this  duchy." 


406  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

"  In  that  event,"  said  Philip,  "  the  ruler  would  have 
soon  been  subjected  by  some  of  his  subjects." 

"  You  would  need  have  but  little  fear  on  that  score.  I 
think  you  have  managed  to  remain  your  own  master,  in 
spite  of  the  glamour  you  someiimes  say  resides  in  my 
glance." 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  been  long  ago  overcome  in  its- 
splendor." 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other  before  we  part,  it  may 
he,  forever,"  said  the  countess.  "  Do  not  speak  to  me  in 
language  of  mere  gallantry,  when  I  am  sorrowing  in  the 
thought  I  shall  no  more  see  you  after  this  evening." 

"  I  am  speaking  to  you,  dear  lady,  in  all  the  sincerity  of 
my  heart,  which  beats  as  warmly  towards  you  as  the  cir- 
cumstances attending  us  could  possibly  justify." 

"  You  made  me  very  happy  at  Undine's  grotto,"  said 
the  countess,  "  for  I  then  thought  you  loved  me,  but  I 
have  concluded  that  you  are  only  my  good  friend." 

"  I  have  been  troubled  very  often,"  said  Philip,  "  lest  I 
might  be  thought  too  bold,  lady  Theresa,  in  daring  to  be 
considered  even  your  friend,  and  I  have  not  mentioned 
things  which  perhaps  ought  to  have  been  said,  for  fear 
you  might  deem  them  unnecessarily  obtruded  on  }'our 
consideration.  I  shall  never  cease  to  love  you  as  long  a& 
I  live,"  and  Philip  went  on  telling  her  of  his  higher  love 
and  plighted  faith  to  his  cousin,  who  relied  upon  his 
honor  in  the  fulfillment  of  their  engagement.  The  beau- 
tiful head,  with  its  black  plumes  and  lustrous  hair  shin- 
ing in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  drooped  very  low  as 
the  recital  continued,  and  when,  he  had  finished  she.  was 
bowed  and  silent  still. 


Pallida   Mors.  407 

"  Oh  !  speak  to  me,"  said  Philip,  "  and  say  you  have  not 
ceased  to  regard  me,  for  I  now  know  this  avowal  should 
have  been  earlier  made." 

"  While  I  was  in  the  gay  world  of  Baden-Baden,"  said 
the  countess,  with  a  low,  sad  voice,  "  I  thought  I  had 
found  pride  enough  to  sustain  me  under  this  confession  ; 
which  somehow  I  feared  you  would  at  last  make.  I  often 
had  the  foreboding  that  you  would  tell  me  you  loved 
another,  yet  I  have  lacked  the  fortitude  to  ask  you  di- 
rectly if  my  dim  dread  was  well  founded.  I  suspected, 
from  the  reserve  of  your  manner,  you  were  thus  fettered, 
while  I  have  believed  that  you  cared  for  me,  and  have  no 
doubt  of  it  now;  but  I  almost  wish  you  had  left  me  to 
my  fate  the  evening  we  first  met." 

"  Lady  Theresa,"  said  Philip,  "  you  are  planting  thorns 
in  my  heart.  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  having 
brought  you  this  unhappiness.  Oh  !  that  I  should  have 
been  so  weak  not  to  have  told  you  all  before." 

"  No,"  said  she,  and  the  fair  face  was  lifted  until  her 
gaze  rested  full  upon  him,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  not 
done  so,  for  this  great  joy  I  have  known  would  have  been 
otherwise  never  experienced.  The  thought  of  marriage 
has  not  been  connected  with  you,  for  I  well  knew  I  would 
not  relish  a  home  in  America,  and  it  was  too  much  to 
have  expected  you  to  surrender  your  ties  and  kindred. 
I  have  recognised  in  you  the  true  nobility  of  nature,  and 
have  not  sought  to  curb  the  joy  of  my  heart.  I  shall 
remember  you  with  no  bitterness,  for  you  did  not  seek 
my  love,  and  what  I  have  given  you  has  been  the  result 
of  my  unsolicited  bounty.  It  may  sound  strange  to  you 
to  hear  me,  a  woman,  making  these  confessions,  and  to 


408  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

any  one  but  )7ou,  I  think  I  should  die  before  my  heart 
should  be  thus  exposed." 

"  You  make  me  very  happy  in  this  last  statement," 
said  Philip.  "  I  am  sincerely  glad  I  have  known  one  of 
the  truest  and  most  beautiful  of  God's  creatures,  and  have 
had  the  good  fortune  to  attract  her  esteem." 

"  I  shall  teach  myself,"  said  the  countess,  "  to  remember 
you  as  my  dear  brother,  and  I  know  your  happy  cousin, 
if  she  could  see  my  heart  now  that  I  fully  understand 
her  claims  upon  you,  would  have  no  objection  to  the  love 
I  still  bear  you,  which  I  promise  to  cherish  while  I  have 
life.  I  have  never  been  anxious  to  enter  that  domain 
which  seems  so  full  of  charms  to  young  women.  I  have 
despaired  of  making  myself  happier,  and  am  unwilling 
to  cloud  my  existence  by  assuming  obligations  for  which 
I  feel  no  inclination  ;  so  when  you  are  married,  if  you 
will  bring  your  bride  to  Schulemberg  castle,  I  promise 
you  I  will  not  feel  jealous  of  her  happiness." 

With  many  such  assurances,  rode  on  the  two  who  were, 
an  hour  ago,  so  much  like  lovers  in  appearance,  but  were 
now  linked  in  that  almost  as  holy  relation  of  friends. 
The  lengthening  shadows  of  twilight  fell  around  them, 
and  the  clear  autumn  moon  had  stolen  up  into  the 
heavens,  as  they  passed  the  great  ruins  of  the  northern 
wing  of  the  castle.  As  it  was  his  last  visit,  the  countess 
would  not  consent  to  Philip's  departure  until  the  queen 
of  the  tides  was  far  advanced  on  her  starlighted  journey. 
They  went  out  for  a  last  look  at  the  grand  battlements 
now  silvered  in  all  their  broken  lines  with  all-hallowing 
light.  The  night  was  cloudless;  but  in  the  beautiful  up- 
turned face  at  Philip's  shoulder,  was  a  serenity  as  deep 
and  undisturbed  as  that  which  fell  upon  it  from  the  in- 


Pallida  Mors.  409 

finite  depths  above.  He  gazed  upon  the  mournful  beauty 
of  the  lifeless  ruin,  and  turned  from  the  contemplation  of 
its  majestic  stillness  to  look  for  the  last  time  upon  eyes 
in  whose  light  he  had  known  so  much  happiness.  In 
their  liquid  depths  he  saw  there  was  sorrow,  but  no  cloud 
of  despair.  They  still  rested  fondly  upon  him,  but  the 
old  look  of  passionate  entreaty  for  the  avowal  of  his  love 
was  gone  forever. 

Philip's  heart  was  too  full  to  speak  his  good-bye ;  so 
he  bowed  his  head  and  kissed  the  pure  brow,  and  the 
next  minute  the  rapid  footfalls  of  Hamlet  were  swiftly 
bearing  him  away.  On  through  the  lights  and  shadows 
of  the  stately  approach,  glided  the  lone  horseman.  On 
the  marble  platform  still  lingered  the  queenly  form, 
between  the  stone  dragons  guarding  the  portal.  They 
had  witnessed  many  arrivals  and  departures,  but  never 
in  all  their  history  had  they  seen  a  great  joy  so  sweetly 
surrendered  as  the  golden-haired  maiden,  in  the  strength 
of  her  goodness,  went  slowly  up  the  broad  steps.  Oh ! 
wondrous  power  of  human  love,  and  more  divine  gift  of 
unselfish  wisdom  !  Oh  !  fathomless  mystery  of  changing 
life,  what  man  has  the  capacity  to  grasp  the  heights  and 
depths  of  your  mighty  significance!  Who  in  the  midst 
of  crowned  joy,  listens  for  the  footsteps  of  coming 
Nemesis,  or  sees  the. promise  of  Paradise  in  the  very 
bosom  of  woe?  Strange  miracles  of  compensation  await 
us  at  every  turn.  Hidden  in  supremest  satisfaction,  are 
the  germs  of  future  despair;  and  from  ray  less  depths  a 
feeble  spark  of  hope  is  nourished  until  it  grows  into  a 
flame  illuminating  the  ages  of  unending  bliss. 


410  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Rosamond's  sorrow. 

And  weeping  then  she  made  her  moan, 
"  The  night  comes  on  that  knows  not  morn, 

When  shall  I  cease  to  he  all  alone, 
To  live  forgotten,  and  love  forlorn." 

— Mariana  in  the  South. 

More  than  four  years  have  elapsed  since  Rosamond 
Courtenay,  then  a  girl  of  fourteen  summers,  made  her 
first  appearance.  This  interval  of  time  is  no  inconsider- 
able portion  of  the  term  usually  allotted  to  human  ex- 
istence, and,  in  the  season  of  youth,  is  long  enough  for 
marked  changes  in  the  feelings  and  appearance  of  both 
sexes.  In  the  life  of  a  female,  it  is  a  season  of  such  won- 
drous transformations  that  it  often  becomes  difficult  to 
realize  the  changes  we  behold  in  the  full-grown  woman. 
When  Rosamond  met  Philip  at  the  door  as  he  came  up 
to  Thorndale  cottage  after  the  fox  chase,  he  saw  before 
him  a  tall,  angular  girl,  striking  in  the  contour  of  the 
head  and  face ;  but  with  all  the  charms  of  dark,  brown 
eyes,  she  could  not  be  considered,  even  by  his  indulgent 
eyes,  as  beautiful  as  rosy-cheeked  Ida  Somerville. 

The  thoughtful  boy  had  often  sighed  for  this  want  of 
beauty  in  her  he  had  always  been  taught  to  regard  as  his 
future  bride.  He  saw  she  was  even  less  pretty  than  Mae 
Glancy,  and  was  far  inferior  to  the  perfection  of  form  and 
feature  observable  in  Mariana  :  but  there  was  some  inde- 
finable charm  which  made  her  very  different  from  others. 
She  seemed  to  live  in  an  atmosphere  wholly  removed 
from  that  in  which  they  existed.     The  dark  eyes  would 


Rosamond' &  Son*ow\  411 

light  up  with  a  splendor  born  of  her  own  sweet  fancies, 
and  there  was  a  low,  passionate  fervor  in  her  tones  which 
imparted  fascination  to  her  wild  stories,  when  her  cousins 
sat  spell-bound  as  her  audience. 

Rosamond  had  now  finished  her  school-days,  and  had 
been  at  home  for  several  months.  She  had  recently  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Philip,  who  had  left  Europe  for  the 
East.  His  letters  often  expressed  a  desire  to  return  to 
America,  but  he  was  also  eager  to  visit  the  cradles  of  hu- 
man history  before  his  final  departure  from  the  old 
world.  He  had  frequently  spoken  of  the  Countess  of 
Schulemberg  's  kindness  to  him,  and  the  admiration  with 
which  he  regarded  her  was  not  hidden.  Rosamond  was 
sometimes  a  little  piqued  in  reading  these  fervid  praises  ; 
but,  having  unbounded  trust  in  the  honor  and  loyalty  of 
her  betrothed,  gave  herself  no  uneasiness  on  the  subject 
of  his  fidelity. 

Ellesmere  had  again  become  the  home  of  the  family, 
so  sadly  returning  from  their  long  stay  abroad.  Judge 
Eustace  was  busy  on  the  farms  needing  his  attention. 
During  his  absence  his  agents  had  discharged  their  duties 
as  well  as  could  have  been  expected;  but  who  has  been  so 
happy  as  to  delegate  his  cares  and  still  find  everything 
executed  as  if  he  had  been  present?  Large  and  varied 
interests  now  became  a  great  alleviation  to  the  sorrowful 
heart  of  the  childless  old  man.  The  people  of  St.  Kilda 
valley  testified  much  sympathy  for  him  in  his  sorrow, 
and  it  was  affecting  to  see  their  grief  when  they  first 
learned  that  the  man  who  had  so  long  been  their  idol  had 
become  but  a  shadow  of  the  past.  They  had  obeyed,  to 
the  letter,  his  last  passionate  appeals  against  political 
views  he  believed  dangerous  to  their  peace,  and  in  many 


412  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

a  rude  home  on  the  mountain  sides,  bitter  tears  stole  into 
the  eyes  of  stern  men  as  they  recalled  the  genial  smile  and 
pleasant  words  of  him  who,  with  all  his  reputation  and 
success,  bore  so  much  love  for  his  early  friends.  Life's 
fitful  fever  was  over ;  but  of  the  throng  who  had  been  so 
lavish  of  their  favors,  how  many  would  continue  to 
cherish  his  memory?  Alas  for  the  stability  of  the  struct- 
ure for  which  thou  laborest,  0  public  man  ! 

If  life  itself  is  a  fleeting  exhalation,  what  shall  be  said 
of  that  volatile  incense  of  popular  favor  for  which  so 
much  toil  and  care  are  undergone  ?  Is  there  a  dream 
that  the  applause  of  to-day  will  outlive  the  morrow? 
"So  long?"  says  Hamlet.  *'  Nay,  then  let  the  devil  wear 
black,  for  I'll  have  a  suit  of  sables.  O  Heavens  !  die  two 
months  ago,  and  not  forgotten  yet?  Then  there's  hope 
a  great  man's  memory  may  outlive  his  life  half  a  year." 

When  the  breath  of  spring  came  upon  the  awakening 
fields  in  the  misty,  dream-like  glow  of  the  life-giving 
warmth,  two  forms  could  be  frequently  seen  at  the  grave 
of  the  dead  statesman.  Rosamond  and  Mariana  were 
planting  flowers  and  watering  them  with  their  tears. 
Both  in  their  hearts  called  him  father.  To  one  unac- 
quainted with  them,  had  he  first  seen  the  calm  and  pas- 
sionless beauty  of  her  who  had  been  for  years  shrouded 
in  darkness,  he  would  have  been  read v  to  conclude  earth 
contained  no  lovelier  being;  but  turning  to  the  taller 
stature  of  her  companion,  he  would  have  seen  another,  in 
whose  clear  perfection  all  other  forms  were  dwarfed  and 
eclipsed  in  attractiveness.  To  say  that  Rosamond  Courte- 
nay  was  beautiful,  seemed  but  a  feeble  commencement 
of  a  portraiture  in  the  completion  of  which  the  power  of 
mere  words  became  utterly  tame.  Her  radiant  and  super- 


Bosam  ond's   Sorrow.  413 

lative  loveliness  of  form  and  feature  instantly  riveted  the 
gaze  of  all  beholders.  Mariana  had  often  seen  the  vast 
range  of  delineation  of  female  beauty  in  the  Louvre. 
She  had  stood  in  almost  breathless  admiration  before  the 
madonnas  and  angels  of  the  great  artists  of  the  past,  but 
when,  after  her  return  from  Europe,  she  beheld  her 
cousin,  she  seemed  spell-bound,  and  could  but  murmur, 
"  O  Rosamond,  if  Philip  could  only  see  you  I" 

Mariana  recalled  from  the  period  preceding  her  blind- 
ness the  image  of  a  little  girl  who  was  shy  and  plain7 
and  while  loving  in  her  disposition,  evidently  more  at 
home  with  an  old  romance  than  even  with  the  admiring 
attentions  of  Philip  and  herself,  unless  they  were  listen- 
ing to  some  story  of  hers  which  realized  to  the  young 
dreamer  more  vividly  the  wealth  of  her  fervid  imagin- 
ings. She  saw  in  the  Rosamond  before  her  a  greater 
transformation  than  was  ever  wrought  by  the  archest 
enchanter  ;  a  blooming  woman,  fairer  than  her  own  mir- 
ror reflected  in  the  mysteries  of  toilet,  and  clothed  with 
such  watchful  consideration  for  others  that  the  charm  of 
physical  perfection  soon  became  secondary  to  the  magic 
of  her  manner. 

During  the  last  year  of  her  stay,  Rosamond  had  seen 
much  gaiety  in  the  city  in  which  she  was  educated.  The 
commodore,  in  whose  family  she  lived,  having  returned 
from  the  command  of  the  squadron  on  the  African  coast, 
his  daughters,  previously  secluded  by  their  mother,  at 
once  went  forward  into  the  round  of  pleasures  upon  which 
young  ladies  usually  enter.  There  was  too  much  po- 
liteness among  those  who  visited  the  house  for  the  dis- 
play of  any  marked  preference,  at  first,  for  either  of  the 
three  maidens  ;  but  Rosamond's  beautv  was  so  unrivalled 


414  2  he  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

she  was  recognized  as  the  attraction  which  had  converted 
a  family,  but  little  visited  before,  into  leaders  of  fashion. 
If  the  good  lady  who  had  acted  so  much  like  a  mother  to 
Rosamond,  had  been  liable  to  the  usual  weakness  of  those 
who  see  their  daughters  eclipsed  in  the  superior  charms 
of  another,  the  heiress  of  Thorndale's  stay  might  have 
been  embittered  by  exhibitions  of  jealousy ,|but  she  had  be- 
come too  dear  to  the  whole  family  for  any  such  feeling,  and 
it  never  occurred  to  their  minds  that  any  one  could  hope 
to  behold  unmoved  the  splendor  of  the  beauty  they  had 
seen  developed  among  themselves.  Rosamond's  encase- 
ment  and  romantic  devotion  to  her  cousin  were  not  un- 
known, and,  therefore,  they  looked  for  no  interference 
with  any  of  their  own  expectations.  Nothing  in  the 
range  of  the  usual  incidents  of  life  more  severely  tries 
the  affection  of  woman  than  the  knowledge  that  one  is 
surpassed  by  another  in  attractiveness. 

"  Men  hate  because  in  act  or  strife 
They  cross  each  other's  path  ; 
Short  is  the  space  for  jealous  jr, 
And  tierce  the  hour  of  wrath  : 
But  woman's  hate  runs  deeper  far, 
Though  shallow  at  the  spring  ; 
Eight  seldom  is  it  that  they  forget 
The  shaft  that  galled  their  wing. 
A  fairer  face,  a  higher  place, 
More  worship,  more  applause, 
Will  make  a  woman  loathe  her  friend. 
Without  a  deadlier  cause." 

In  Rosamond  Courtney,  Mrs.  Leighton  and  her  daugh- 
ters saw  an  entire  absence  of  a  desire  to  win  the  love  of 
gallants  surrounding  her.  She  was  ever  kind  and  con- 
siderate, but  no  token  of  the  usual  coquetries  of  a  pretty 
woman  was  discernible  in  the  simple  sweetness  of  the 
queenly  maiden.     She  accepted  the  incense  ever  arising 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  415 

around  her  in  society  with  such  meek  and  deprecating 
remonstrance,  they  could  not  in  their  hearts  find  an  ex- 
cuse for  envy.  God  and  her  own  nature  had  clothed  her 
with  glorious  attractiveness,  and  it  was  the  result  of  no 
exertion  of  her  own.  The  vanity  sometimes  allowable 
in  young  belles  was  wholly  wanting  in  her  earnest  and 
graceful  demeanor. 

William  Compton,  the  father  of  Frederick,  was  consid- 
ered by  his  neighbors  a  happy  man.  His  long-cherished 
desire  for  public  station  had  been  gratified  in  his  election, 
more  than  a  year  before,  to  the  House  of  Representatives 
in  Congress.  Pepin,  after  his  defeat  at  the  St.  Kilda 
races  by  Philip's  horse,  Tempest,  had  a  career  of  brilliant 
success  over  different  race-courses,  and  though  Mr.  Comp- 
ton was  known  to  gamble  habitually  no  one  thought  he 
lost  much  money  at  cards.  He  was  supposed  to  be  much 
too  astute  for  that.  Sume  of  his  acquaintances  feared  he 
was  injuring  his  health  by  strong  drink,  but  no  one  ever 
saw  him  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  when  not  in  such 
goodly  companionship  that  his  own  departure  from  so- 
briety seemed  rather  the  effect  of  social  feeling  than  any 
confirmed  weakness.  He  would  sometimes  confess  he 
did  not  think  it  an  unpardonable  sin  for  a  man  to  be  in 
such  condition  when  many  of  his  friends  were  in  a  similar 
state. 

Mr.  Compton  had  become  the  oracle  of  the  valley,  and 
now  that  his  former  competitor  was  dead  and  his  father 
disabled  by  age  from  attention  to  public  affairs,  the  long 
desired  leadership  had  been  obtained.  No  man  in  all 
the  St.  Kilda  region  was  more  consulted  and  looked  up 
to,  than  Mr.  Compton.  Many  parents  would  have  been 
troubled  at  the  traces  of  dissipation  in  Frederick,  who, 


416  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

though  to  the  eyes  of  the  uninitiated,  a  thoroughly  re- 
spectable young  man,  was  yet  not  entirely  indebted  to 
study  and  attention  to  business  for  hi?  bloodless  face, 
and  meagre  figure.  He  had  recently  returned  from 
Europe,  on  hearing  that  Thorndale  cottage  was  again 
cheered  by  the  presence  of  Rosamond.  To  marry  this 
heiress,  was  now  the  object  of  his  otherwise  purposeless 
life.  To  all  things  else  he  manifested  an  indifference 
strange  in  one  so  young.  He  did  not  positively  dislike 
the  rival  who  had  baffled  and  outstripped  him  in  the  con- 
test hio  own  vanity  had  suggested,  if  his  own  words  could 
be  trusted.  He  was  commonly  profuse  in  his  praise  of 
the  noble  character  ascribed  to  him  whose  unselfih  kind- 
ness was  too  well  known  to  be  openly  assailed  ;  but  in 
his  heart  the  young  schemer  would  have  rejoiced  if  the 
wild  Bedouin  of  the  desert  had  closed  the  career  of  the 
antagonist  upholding  the  hopes  of  continued  ascendency 
in  the  house  of  Eustace. 

According  to  the  latest  accounts  in  the  possession  of 
these  two  men  who  were  consulting  together  concerning 
him,  Philip  was  among  the  Arabs  indulging  his  fondness 
for  horses,  and  surveying,  on  their  native  plains,  the 
steeds  long  celebrated  all  over  the  world.  They  were  un- 
able to  ascertain  when  he  was  expected  "in  America,  and 
this  seemed  to  trouble  them  as  they  were  deeply  interest- 
ed in  his  movements.  Mr.  Compton  was  restless^  walk- 
ing to  and  fro  on  the  plush  of  a  Turkey  carpet  in  the 
gaudy  pattern  of  which  he  appeared  to  have  become  fas- 
cinated, for  his  look  had  been  several  minutes  bent  on 
the  floor.  He  was  revolving  some  subject  engaging  the 
attention  of  every  faculty,  and,  pausing  before  his  son, 
who  was  reclining  on  a  sofa,  he  remarked  : 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  417 

"  Frederick,  I  shall  be  a  ruined  man  in  less  than  six 
months  unless  you  can  marry  Rosamond  Courtenay.  My 
liabilities  now  due  and  those  rapidly  maturing  will  reach 
ninety  thousand  dollars.  I  cannot  renew  my  notes  in 
bank  unless  I  can  pay  at  least  twenty  thousand  dollars; 
and  if  it  were  to  save  my  life  I  would  be  unable  to  meet 
that  claim  which  Col.  Ridgely  holds  against  me.  With 
the  large  sums  belonging  to  Rosamond  you  could  easily 
extricate  me  from  this  dilemma  to  which  my  own  folly 
has  reduced  me." 

"  What  do  you  call  your  folly,  father?" 

"Why  the  madness  of  risking  the  money  I  have  lost 
on  that  horse  in  the  great  match  just  decided,  and  the 
double-dyed  simplicity  of  giving  thousands  to  a  senator 
and  a  professional  gambler  who,  I  am  now  convinced, 
united  to  fleece  me  in  Washington  last  winter." 

"  I  have  not  before  heard  of  this  latter  misfortune.  To 
what  extent  did  you  suffer?" 

"  At  least  thirty  thousand  dollars.  I  had  great  suc- 
cess at  first,  and  was  hoping  I  should  realize  enough  to 
pay  my  debts,  but  was  swindled  out  of  the  last  farthing  I 
could  raise." 

"  Could  not  the  farm  in  the  South  be  sold  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  have  a  considerable  amount  to  pay  on  that  yet ; 
and  the  man  from  whom  I  purchased  has  a  lien  upon 
both  land  and  negroes,  and  movements  of  that  sort  would 
be  certain  to  precipitate  my  creditors  upon  me.  I  thought 
from  what  you  wrote  me  from  Paris,  Philip  Eustace  would 
marry  that  German  countess.  How  is  it  you  now  have 
doubts?" 

"  When  that  letter  was  written,"  said  Frederick,  "  I 
had  visited  the  city  in  which  is  the  university  he  was  at- 
27 


418  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

tending.  I  there  saw  and  heard  enough  from  Eustace 
himself  and  his  friends  to  convince  me  he  was  greatly 
interested  in  this  young  woman.  I  looked  at  them  as 
they  sat  together  in  an  opera  house,  and  saw  that  she 
loved  him  too  deeply  even  to  conceal  it  there.  I  have 
never  known  anything  to  divert  Philip  from  his  purpose, 
and  I  certainly  counted  upon  their  marriage  ;  seeing  she 
was  an  heiress  and  the  uncontrolled  mistress  of  her  per- 
son. I  even  visited  Schulemberg  castle,  and  bribed  a 
servant  to  communicate  to  me  at  Paris  everything  he 
should  observe  indicating  the  true  status  of  affairs  between 
the  countess  and  him.  I  grew  uneasy  when  she  went  to 
Baden-Baden,  and  I  repaired  thither  to  observe  her.  She 
was  surrounded  by  admiring  nobles,  but  I  saw  her  dis- 
satisfaction in  all  the  adulation  her  beauty  excited.  I 
knew  she  was  thinking  of  Eustace,  but  when  she  went 
home,  I  soon  heard  that  Philip  seldom  visited  her,  and 
that  she  seemed  troubled  about  something,  the  nature  of 
which  was  unknown.  Finally  my  faithful  spy  reported 
that  he  saw  them  part  in  front  of  the  castle,  and  though 
they  were  so  tenderty  attached  that  he  kissed  her  brow  ; 
yet  they  spoke  words  in  his  hearing  which  indicated  the 
love-making  was  all  over.  She  was  very  sad  after  his 
departure,  but  not  a  line  has  ever  passed  between  them 
through  the  post ;  and  I  am  convinced,  though  they  real- 
ly loved  each  other,  the  affair  has  had  to  yield  to  the  ac- 
cursed good  faith  which  this  man  persists  in  keeping  with 
Rosamond." 

"  Why  have  you  not  used  this  love  passage  of  young 
Eustace  with  the  German  lady  to  prejudice  Miss  Courte- 
nay  against  him  ?     Have  you  tried  that  yet?"  and  the 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  419 

eyes  of  the  father  sparkled  with  the  thought  that  flashed 
upon  his  mind. 

"  No,"  said  Frederick,  arising  from  his  recumbent  po- 
sition, "  I  have  not  thought  it  prudent  to  take  a  step 
which  would  be  sure  to  awaken  furious  resentment  in 
this  son  of  the  giants.  I  can  assure  you  any  one  may 
well  pause  before  he  creates  in  Philip  Eustace's  mind  the 
belief  that  his  honor  has  been  assailed.  I  never  saw  a 
man  whom  I  should  not  prefer  as  my  opponent  in  such 
circumstances.  If  necessary  he  would  suffer  ten  deaths, 
or  beat  me  into  mince-meat,  if  he  caught  me  tampering 
with  his  name." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  afraid  of  him,  I  suppose  I  need  not 
say  anything  more  of  what  I  think  can  be  safely  effected." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  Eustace  or  any  one  else;  but  I  am 
unwilling  to  place  myself  in  the  power  of  a  man  who 
values  his  life  as  nothing  to  his  good  name,  and  would 
be  certain  to  blazon  my  shame  to  the  world  if  he  de- 
tected me  in  using  unfair  means  against  him  with  Rosa- 
mond. Let  me  hear  what  you  have  to  propose,  it  may 
be  I  will  approve  your  suggestion,  after  all." 

"  You  say  you  do  not  dare  to  take  any  but  fair  advan- 
tage of  young  Eustace  in  this  matter.  That  remark  con- 
veys a  slur  on  myself;  but  I  suppose  I  need  not  quarrel 
with  you,  when  we  are  discussing  a  plan  for  my  relief, 
even  if  you  do  indirectly  insinuate  I  would  have  you  act 
dishonestly." 

"  Father,  we  know  each  other,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  an  ill-concealed  sneer.  "  Go  on,  if  you  please,  and 
let  me  hear  what  you  will  propose  to  weaken  the  attach- 
ment between  these  young  people  every  one  else  is  so. 
anxious  to  see  united." 


420  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kida. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Compton,  "  that  this  affair 
must  be  delicately  managed.  The  young  lady  is  too  in- 
telligent and  her  cousin  too  dangerous,  to  be  interfered 
with  in  any  weak  and  bungling  manner.  But  you  say 
you  know  that  Philip  Eustace  loved  this  young  German 
girl,  and  she  reciprocated  his  affection.  Now  it  is  noth- 
ing but  fair  that  Rosamond  Courtenay,  the  affianced  bride 
of  the  gay  deceiver,  should  be  informed  of  his  untruth  to 
herself.  Moralists  are  agreed  that  the  essence  of  a  false- 
hood consists  in  the  deception  practiced.  If  we  satisfy 
fhe  heiress  of  Thorndale  that  Philip  loves  a  woman  in 
Europe,  it  does  not  involve  a  necessary  violation  of  the 
truth.  If  you  could  manage  to  convince  her  mind  on 
rthis  subject,  I  think  the  mere  instrument  of  that  convic- 
tion ought  not  to  be  such  a  matter  of  scruple  that  a  man 
should  suffer  his  conscience  to  be  hurt  thereat;  provided, 
always,  he  manages  with  enough  tact  to  keep  himself  out 
of  an  ugly  difficulty  with  the  rival,,  who  would  of  course 
be  furious  at  the  disturbance  in  his  affairs." 

"  Father,  if  you  please,  cease  talking  like  a  Jesuit,  and 
let  me  hear,  in  so  many  words,  how  you  would  accom- 
plish this  thing.  I  would  almost  be  willing  to  accept  the 
torture  of  the  damned,  if  it  would  bring  Rosamond 
Courtenay  to  my  arms." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Compton,  "suppose  you  obtain  an 
opportunity  for  uninterrupted  conversation  with  the 
young  lady.  As  you  have  not  recently  appeared  in  the 
character  of  her  lover  ;  assume  that  of  a  friend.  Appear 
unwilling  to  say  anything  to  disturb  her,  but  intimate 
that  you  have  information  which  should,  by  all  means, 
be  in  her  possession.  Speak  of  the  sacred  nature  of  a 
double  friendship,  in  which  duty  is  divided  between  two 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  421 

persons.  Suggest  that  she  is  in  danger  of  incurring  un- 
happiness  through  life  by  ignorance  of  facts  iu  your 
keeping ;  yet  such  is  your  affection  for  a  friend,  you  can 
scarcely  bring  yourself  to  the  disclosures  you  half  believe 
it  your  duty  to  make.  If  she  exhibit  any  desire  for  the 
information,  exact  a  solemn  pledge  that,  under  no  cir- 
cumstances, are  the  revelations  to  be  repeated  ;  and  then 
tell  her  how  }Tou  saw  Philip  Eustace  and  this  German 
woman  billing  and  cooing.  If  you  have  a  specimen  of 
his  hand-writing,  I  could  produce  you  a  letter  which 
would  work  like  a  charm  in  the  matter." 

"What!  commit  a  forgery?"  said  Frederick,  and  his 
cavernous  gray  eyes  grew  luminous  with  excitement. 

"There  you  are  again  making  your  disparaging  inu- 
endoes,  my  son.  Do  you  think  me  such  a  fool  as  to  think 
of  committing  an  offence  for  which  I  might  become  in- 
famous? By  no  means  commit  a  forgery!  Write  a  let- 
ter, but  sign  no  name  to  it.  Read  only  a  portion  of  its 
contents,  and  intimate  that  the  remainder  is  of  such  a 
nature  she  should  not  see  it.  You  need  not  say  at  all  it 
was  written  by  Philip ;  let  that  inference  be  drawn  from 
the  subject  matter  and  chirography.  Follow  these  di- 
rections, and  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if  both  our  de- 
sires are  not  accomplished." 

The  summer  was  at  its  height  of  heat  and  gaiety. 
Rosamond  had  received  a  letter  from  the  daughters  of 
Commodore  Leigh  ton,  and  with  Percival  St.  George  as 
their  escort,  Mrs.  Courtenay  had  accepted  an  invitation 
to  meet  them  at  the  seaside.  Mariana  accompanied  them, 
and,  with  oft-expressed  wishes  for  the  presence  of  him 
who  was  now  wandering,  they  knew  not  where,  they  took 
up  their   abode  under   the  shadow   of  a  great  fortress. 


422  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

The  commodore  and  his  family  were  there,  with  many 
other  friends  Rosamond  had  known  before  leaving  their 
circle.  The  beauty  of  the  two  heiresses  from  St.  Kilda 
soon  made  them  centers  of  attention,  but  the  adulation 
of  admirers  was  not  the  music  to  which  they  loved  to 
listen.  There  was  indeed  one  who  could  have  awakened 
rapturous  bliss  by  a  few  words  in  the  ears  of  Rosamond, 
but  he  was  far  beyond  the  ocean  rolling  full  in  view. 
With  Rosamond  and  Mariana,  Percival,  still  retaining 
many  of  his  youthful  attractions,  would  go  forth  to  listen 
to  the  murmur  of  the  restless  waves,  and  enjoy  himself 
more  than  he  had  for  years  past  in  the  presence  of  these 
lustrous  beauties  who  were  so  full  of  tender  appreciation 
of  his  infirmities.  They  saw  with  regret  that  the  ruth- 
less hand  of  time  was  scattering  a  little  silver  in  his  dark 
brown  hair,  and  about  the  sad  eyes  were  furrows  which 
had  been  planted  by  the  touch  of  sorrow ;  but  his  pres- 
ence there  betokened  much  alleviation  from  grief.  If 
St.  George  was  not  so  handsome,  he  was  far  happier  than 
at  any  time  since  his  early  loss. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  he,  "  that  Philip  is  forearmed 
against  disaster  in  his  attachment  for  you,  Rosamond.  If 
he  could  see  vou  now,  I  would  not  fear  all  the  beauties 
of  the  world  bringing  him  to  such  trouble  as  I  have 
known.  The  men  of  our  family  seem  able  to  love  but 
one  woman,  and  I  know  of  none  who  have  entered  into 
a  second  marriage;  where  their  hearts  are  once  given,  it 
is  for  life." 

"Such  w^ere  the  sentiments  of  my  dear  father,  cousin 
Percy,"  said  Mariana.  "  He  never  gave  me  another 
mother  after  he  had  lost  my  own." 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  423 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Rosamond,  "  that  mother  proves  the 
same  trait  in  the  females.     She  has  married  but  once." 

"  Yes,"  said  Percival,  "  I  fear  some  of  us  are  too  indif- 
ferent to  this  relation,  which,  when  blest  with  the  love 
that  often  hallows  wedded  joy,  is  the  highest  bliss  deriv- 
able from  human  affinities.  Mariana,  I  think  you  are 
utterly  careless  about,  if  not  averse,  to  the  thought  of 
marriage." 

"  I  really  never  thought  seriously  on  the  subject  but 
once,"  said  she.  "  My  dear  friend,  Charles  Loundes, 
(whom  you  do  not  know,  Rosamond),  I  believed  really 
loved  me,  and  his  entreaties  for  my  promise  to  become 
his  wife  so  disturbed  me  that  I  was  forced  to  ask  myself 
if  it  was  my  duty  to  make  the  pledge  he  desired.  I  did 
not  feel,  under  the  circumstances,  I  should  add  to  the 
happiness  of  either  by  so  doing.  I  love  him  for  his  devo- 
tion to  Philip,  but  my  feelings  never  recognized  the  ne- 
cessity of  his  presence,  and  I  think  I  was  right  in  not 
acceding  to  his  request." 

"  Of  course  you  were,  St.  Cecilia  !"  said  Percival.  "  Who 
ever  knew  you  to  be  wrong  ?" 

"  Cousin  Percival,"  said  Rosamond,  "  there  goes  my 
friend,  Mr.  Hastings,  an  acquaintance  of  mine  when  at 
school.  I  am  sorry  he  is  going  to  leave  the  country,  for 
he  has  a  charming  family,  and  they  are  fond  of  me.  He 
is  an  author  too,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Percival,  "  I  have  read  some  of  his  pro- 
ductions; he  is  very  genial  and  pleasant  in  his  fancies." 

"  You  must  know  him  personalty,"  said  Rosamond. 

The  season  at  the  watering  place  was  nearly  over,  and 
in  a  few  days  the  visitors  from  St.  Kilda  expected  to  leave 
for  their  homes.     Just  previous  to  their  departure  they 


424  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

were  astonished  by  the  arrival  of  Frederick  Coinpton  and 
his  sister,  Edith.  Rosamond  observed  a  change  in  his 
demeanor  toward  herself.  For  years  in  the  past  he  had 
never  failed  to  embrace  opportunities  to  tell  her  of  his 
love.  The  last  time  she  saw  him,  before  his  departure 
for  Europe,  he  had,  indeed,  said  but  little  on  the  subject, 
and  in  his  visits  previous  to  her  leaving  Thorndale  for 
the  sea-side,  he  had  but  once  referred  to  his  love.  She 
congratulated  herself  on  the  pleasant  change  from  a 
despairing  lover  to  a  good  friend  ;  and  was  consequently 
more  than  usually  kind  in  her  demeanor  toward  him. 
The  beautiful  victim  was  wholly  unsuspicious  of  the  toils 
into  which  the  heartless  and  selfish  man  was  leading  her. 
The  party  was  promenading  on  the  parapet  of  the  forti- 
fication. The  military  friends  of  the  ladies  had  shown 
them  the  flight  of  seveial  shells  fired  from  a  huge  colum- 
biad.  They  wondered  at  the  ease  with  which  a  few 
cannoneers  traversed  the  great  piece  on  its  circular  car- 
riage, and  were  still  more  at  a  loss  to  understand  how 
men  could  be  brought  to  submit  patiently  for  hours  to 
bombardment  from  such  frightful  projectiles.  At  the 
request  of  Compton,  Rosamond  walked  with  him  to  the 
next  piece,  also  mounted  en  barbette,  and  the  two  sat  down 
on  the  carriage. 

"  I  do  wish  Philip  would  come  home,''  said  he,  "  for  I 
should  be  rejoiced  to  see  his  face  once  more.  I  am 
afraid  he  is  having  such  a  happy  time  among  those  pret- 
ty countesses  his  anxiety  to  return  is  not  as  great  as  it 
should  be." 

"I  am  confident,"  said  Rosamond,  "  instead  of  his  be- 
ing in  the  midst  of  pleasant  society  he  is  at  this  very 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  425 

moment  among  the  descendants  of  Ishmael,  on  the  de- 
sert." 

"  Oh  !  he  has  returned  to  Schulemberg  castle  long  be- 
fore this.  Of  course  he  will  not  be  letting  those  at  home 
know  all  his  movements.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the 
Countess  Theresa  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  Philip  has  written  me  glowing  accounts 
of  her  beauty  and  kindness  to  him.  They  were  excellent 
friends  during  his  stay  in  Germany." 

Compton  looked  up  and  smiled  in  a  manner  peculiar 
to  himself.  Rosamond  noticed  it,  and  it  told  her  as 
plainly  as  so  many  words,  he  pitied  her  want  of  under- 
standing. She  had  never  relished  the  idea  of  the  coun- 
tess being  so  fond  of  Philip,  and  she  was  instantly  anxi- 
ous for  an  explanation  of  the  silence  with  which  her  last 
remarks  were  treated. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,"  said  Frederick,  "  I  cannot  be 
saying  anything  about  the  way  we  young  men  behave 
when  our  fathers  and  sweethearts  are  not  in  sight.  Philip 
is  my  friend,  and  I  in  am  honor  bound  to  keep  my  knowl- 
edge to  myself." 

"  I  am  sure  Philip  would  have  no  objection  to  my 
knowing  the  truth;  whatever  it  may  be." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  must  recollect  my  former  folly,  when 
I  dared  to  have  a  hope  in  con-nection  with  yourself !  Now 
if  Philip  Eustace,  good  as  he  is,  were  to  hear  I  had  been 
telling  you  of  any  of  his  love  matters,  he  would  never 
forgive  me  and  always  believe  I  acted  from  sinister  mo- 
tives." 

"  I  know  very  well  he  has  done  nothing  at  which  I 
should  be  distressed." 

"I  am  your  friend  as  well  as  Philip's,  but  I  know  you 


426  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

will  believe  me  when  I  declare  my  greater  regard  is  for 
yourself.  Then  you  are  a  woman,  and  I  have  long  felt 
it  was  my  duty  to  guard  you  from  possible  unhappiness, 
by  warning  you  in  time.  I  have  thought  my  motives 
would  be  misconstrued,  and  even  now  I  fear  you  are  dis- 
trusting me.  If  I  tell  you  anything  it  must  be  with  the 
understanding  that  it  is  to  be  mentioned  to  no  other 
person." 

"  Go  on,  Frederick,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  promise  you  I 
will  not  even  breathe  it  to  Philip." 

"  Before  I  say  anything  more,"  said  Frederick,  "  I  must 
insist  that  you  ought  not  to  hold  Philip  to  the  same  rules 
of  devotion  lovers  are  usually  expected  to  observe.  You 
must  recollect  his  engagement  to  you  is  a  family  affair. 
He  has  been  taught  to  regard  you  as  his  love,  but  the 
heart  cannot  be  controlled  in  this  matter.  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  he  tries  to  be  faithful  to  you.  He  is 
the  most  sincere  and  dutiful  son  I  ever  knew,  and  as  he 
is  acquainted  with  his  grandfather's  and  father's  wishes, 
for  his  union  with  yourself,  of  course  he  will  submit  to 
their  desires. 

These  artful  words  of  praise  sank  into  Rosamond's 
heart  like  the  sound  of  shovelled  earth  on  the  ears  of 
listening  friends  as  the  last  sad  rite  is  performed  for  the 
dead.  He  was  praising  Philip  so  much,  that  she  was 
completely  devoid  of  suspicion,  and  her  noble  head  droop- 
ed with  the  first  dull  throbbings  of  a  great  sorrow. 

"  Go  on  with  the  facts  you  promised  me,  Frederick,  and 
spare  me,  if  you  can,  these  cruel  observations  which, 
though  you  may  intend  them  kindly,  sink  like  daggers 
into  my  heart." 

"You  must  not  take  these  things,  which  you  know  as 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  427 

well  as  I  do,  so  much  to  heart,"  said  Compton,  and  his 
bitter  eyes  danced  with  joy  as  he  saw  the  grief  he  had 
caused.  "  You  must  accept  facts  in  the  way  of  the 
world;  for  family-made  matches  were  never  supposed 
to  carry  much  love  with  them.  Parties  to  such  affairs  of 
convenience  look  not  to  each  other,  but  elsewhere,  for 
affection.  I  have  seen  enough  of  European  life  to  know 
this  is  almost  always  the  case.  Philip  clearly  recognizes 
this  sensible  view  of  his  position  in  the  world.  He  has 
always  been  engaged  to  you,  but  this  did  not  prevent  his 
making  love  to  Lily  Seaton  while  we  were  at  college. 
Poor  girl  !  she  loved  him  too." 

Here  was  another  cruel  stab,  for  Rosamond  remem- 
bered the  visit  of  Miss  Seaton  to  herself,  the  young  lady's 
manifest  interest  in  everything  relating  to  Philip,  and 
she  had  a  strong  suspicion  of  the  truth  of  Frederick's 
concluding  remark. 

"And  then,"  continued  Compton,  "how  could  he  be 
expected  to  remain  insensible  to  the  evident  love  of  the 
beautiful  countess  who,  unasked,  gave  him  the  heart 
which  even  dukes  were  unable  to  win  ?  I  saw  her  in 
the  glory  of  her  triumph  at  Baden-Baden  where  she  re- 
mained unmoved  amid  all  the  adoration  of  her  titled 
gallants.  But  you  should  have  seen  the  dreamy  languor 
of  her  love-lit  eyes  when  Philip  was  at  her  side." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that  Philip  returned 
her  love  ?"  said  the  low  voice  of  Rosamond,  and  her  eyes 
eagerly  questioned  his  face  as  if  this  were  her  last  hope. 

"  I  never  heard  Philip  say  as  much,  but  his  friends,  the 
closest  and  dearest,  distinctly  declared  it  in  so  many 
words  in  my  presence.  I  will  show  you  a  portion  of  a 
letter  I  received    while  in    Paris.     I  know  it  is  a  gross 


428  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

breach  of  the  confidence  the  writer  reposed  in  me,  but 
you  may  read  it,  and  see  what  I  have  told  you  is  true." 

He  held  the  paper  folded  over  in  such  a  way  that  she 
could  read  only  a  part.  A  few  sentences  sufficed,  and 
the  blood  fled  from  her  face. 

"  It  is  enough,"  she  murmured.  "  You  have  told  and 
shown  me  enough.  Oh  !  Frederick,  if  you  had  only 
killed  me  before  you  destroyed  my  hopes  in  life.  I  wish 
I  could  die  and  be  at  rest,  and  release  Philip  from  his 
vows.  Frederick,  I  have  a  sinful  wish  to  throw  myself 
into  the  waves  of  the  sea  out  there.  Think  you  it  would 
be  unpardonable?" 

The  soft,  dark  eyes  gazed  with  such  a  look  of  wild  long- 
ing upon  the  gray  caps  of  the  breakers,  that  the  wretch 
who  had  occasioned  her  terrible  despair,  was  frightened 
at  his  own  work,  and  with  passionate  words  besought  her 
to  be  reasonable. 

"  What  a  fool  I  have  been  to  talk  to  you  in  such  a  way. 
I  thought  you  would  view  the  matter  as  any  one  else, 
and  not  go  frantic  like  some  tragedy  queen  about  the 
little  flirtation  of  a  young  man  who  is,  after  all,  so  much 
better  than  any  of  us.  But  remember,  you  have  prom- 
ised to  say  nothing  of  what  has  passed  between  us." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Rosamond,  still  looking  out 
on  the  sea.  "  Your  words  shall  die  with  me,  Frederick. 
Oh,  I  can  surely  not  be  burdened  long  !" 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  they  left  their  seats  ; 

?■  And  like  a  dying1  lady,  lean  and  pale, 
Who  totters  forth,  wrapt  in  a  gauzy  veil, 
Out  of  her  chamber,  led  by  the  insane 
And  feeble  wanderings  of  her  fading  brain 


The  moon  arose.' 


Rosamond's  Sorrow.  429 

The  party  went  to  the  hotel,  and  Rosamond  at  once 
retired  to  her  room,  excusing  herself  on  the  plea  of  sick- 
ness, which  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Mariana  feared  was 
serious  when  they  saw  the  pallor  of  her  face.  They  re- 
turned to  St.  Kilda  valley,  but  the  spirit  of  the  beautiful 
heiress  of  Thorndale  was  darkened  in  a  manner  unac- 
countable to  her  friends.  In  her  warm,  imaginative  dis- 
position she  had  been  all  her  life  building  up  fancy 
structures  of  future  bliss  in  which  Philip  was  so  largely 
associated  that  now  she  had  come  to  distrust  his  love, 
existence  became  a  blank,  and  she  seemed  sinking  daily 
to  deeper  depths  of  gloom. 


430  The  Heirs  of  St  Kilda. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 


A  NEW  GODDESS  IN  THE  PANTHEON. 

"I  love  thee  not  the  less:  from  thee 
By  Juno's  smile  I  turn  not — no,  no,  no- 
While  the  great  waters  are  at  ebb  and  flow. 
I  have  a  triple  soul !   O  fond  pretence— 
For  both,  for  both  my  love  is  so  immense, 
I  feel  my  heart  is  cut  in  twain  for  them." 


Endymion. 


More  than  a  year  had  elapsed  since  Philip  Eustace 
and  Charles  Loundes  started  on  their  pilgrimage.  They 
passed  through  France  and  Spain,  and  at  Gibraltar  took 
berths  on  one  of  the  steamers  of  the  over-land  route  from 
England  to  India,  and  thus  reached  Egypt  and  the  Holy 
Land.  They  had  gone  as  far  into  the  desert  as  Tadmor 
and  returning  to  the  haunts  of  civilization,  traversed 
the  cities  of  the  Levantine  coast.  Greece  had  been  the 
latest  field  of  exploration,  and,  then  after  a  long  chapter 
of  moving  accidents,  they  were  safely  arrived  in  the 
Eternal  City. 

This  had  been  a  laborious  expedition  to  Philip.  He 
had  undertaken  it  with  a  determination  to  enjoy  himself 
as  much  as  he  could  ;  but  study  of  the  monuments  of  the 
past  was  his  chief  object.  In  the  shadow  of  the  Pyra- 
mids he  realized  the  folly  of  human  vanity;  and  amid 
the  scenes  of  hallowed  Israel,  found  the  moonlight  still 
placid  on  Olivet  and  the  summer  winds  gentle  in 
Gethsemane  as  in  the  days  of  the  Saviour.  Athens,  with 
crumbling  marbles  was  the  most  mournful  picture  of  all; 
for  in  this  chosen  haunt  of  deathless  genius  men  had 
accomplished  all  that  is  attainable  by  uninspired  wisdom. 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  431 

After  air  his  wanderings,  he  had  come  to  the  grandest 
of  all  cities.  Shorn  of  her  olden  precedence,  Rome  of 
the  present  day  has  not,  without  reason  been  called 
eternal.  Philip  had  so  much  to  muse  upon  in  the  story 
of  its  long-waning  glories  that  he  determined  upon  a 
month's  stay,  and  soon  found  Ludwig  Jagerndorf  busy 
as  ever  at  his  easel.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  artist,  had 
deepened  since  his  friend  had  last  seen  him,  and  his  stay 
in  Rome  was  a  period  of  passionate  enjoyment.  With 
a  devotion  remarkable  even  among  artists,  he  had  been 
giving  his  time,  when  not  at  work  with  his  colors,  to  the 
study  of  the  relics  of  Italian  genius.  There  had  been 
much  to  transfer  to  the  subtle  realm  of  his  own  fancy 
amid  the  well-preserved  beauties  of  art  in  his  own  native 
city;  but  here  creative  faculty  had  been  so  lavish  in  its 
accomplishment  that  things  prized  in  other  lands  were 
left  to  perish  unnoticed.  Mutilated  torsoes,  and  the  dis- 
jecta membra  of  antiques  worthy  of  immortal  care,  were 
scattered  around  and  destined,  ere  long,  to  follow  many 
another  precious  remnant  to  the  lime-kiln. 

Ludwig  was  overjoyed  to  meet  Philip,  for  he  had  known 
of  his  departure  from  Germany,  but  for  a  year  past  had 
heard  nothing  of  his  movements.  This  reunion  brought 
no  less  happiness  to  the  heart  of  the  American,  for  he 
had  but  few  acquaintances  in  the  city.  The  minister- 
resident  from  the  United  States  had  gone  on  a  visit  to 
Naples,  not  intending  to  return  for  several  days,  and 
thus  Philip  fortunately  found  a  friend  to  direct  him  in 
his  explorations.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  location  of 
Ludwig's  studio,  described  in  the  artist's  letters,  but  he 
at  first  feared  he  had  returned  to  his  home,  and  was 
therefore  delighted  when  he  had  passed  down  the  Corso 


432  Ihe  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

and  diverged  into  Via  della  Ripetta,  to  find  on  a  tablet 
the  name  of  him  he  was  so  eager  to  meet.  On  the  walls. 
of  the  studio  was  abundant  evidence  of  enthusiasm  and 
patient  work.  Rough  sketches  and  completed  pictures 
were  scattered  in  endless  confusion ;  some,  exposed  to 
view,  having  received  their  last  touches ;  others,  being 
unfinished,  were  reversed.  Here  was  a  sure  and  pleasant 
retreat  for  Philip  whenever  he  should  tire  in  his  explor- 
ations and  feel  the  need  of  a  place  filling  that  craving  of 
the  human  heart  which  is  ever  unsatisfied  until  there  is 
some  home-like  asylum  for  refuge  among  strangers. 
Ludwig  readily  surrendered  his  time,  to  act  as  guide  for 
his  American  friend,  in  surveying  the  wreck  of  that 
proud  metropolis  which  is  yet  an  object  well  worthy  of 
all  admiration. 

Philip  had  purchased,  while  among  the  Arabs,  two 
horses  so  remarkable  for  their  beauty  he  had  been  at 
great  pains  to  have  them  shipped  to  Malta,  and  by  means 
of  a  courier,  sent  to  his  agent  on  the  island,  received 
them  at  Rome.  He  and  Loundes  had  taken  them  out 
one  evening  for  an  airing  on  the  Pincian  Hill,  when  they 
met  the  American  minister  who  had  just  returned  from 
Naples.  Mr.  Maitland  had  been  known  to  them  in 
America,  and  more  than  once  his  two  young  countrymen 
had  met  him  at  the  house  of  Gov.  Eustace  in  Paris.  The 
three  were  conversing  together,  when  a  horseman  riding 
an  animal  of  singular  power  and  elegance  approached 
the  group.  He  was  accosted  by  the  American  envoy  and 
introduced  as  Lord  Vernon,  the  English  embassador  at 
the  Papal  court. 

"  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  he,  "  were  you  related  to  the  late 
envoy  to  Paris  ?" 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  433 

"  He  was  my  father,  sir." 

"  I  met  him  frequently,"  said  his  lordship,  "  and  re- 
gretted to  hear  of  his  death.  I  have  several  times  this 
evening  observed  those  fine  animals  you  and  Mr.  Loundes 
,are  riding.  They  must  be  genuine  barbs,  or  I  am  mis- 
taken." 

"  They  are,  sir,"  said  Philip,  "  I  purchased  them  in  the 
desert  from  an  Arab  sheik." 

"  You  have  won  a  prize,"  said  Lord  Vernon,  "  richly 
rewarding  you  for  all  the  trouble  such  a  journey  must 
have  occasioned.  Gentlemen,  how  long  will  you  remain 
in  the  city  ?" 

"  For  several  weeks,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Lord  Vernon,  "  and,  as  I 
am  fond  of  horses,  and  have  a  portion  of  my  English 
stud  with  me,  I  will  have  your  horses  cared  for  in  my 
stable,  if  you  desire  it  You  will  find  Italian  grooming 
sadly  out  joint." 

"  I  am  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  your  lordship,"  said 
Philip,  "  for  I  have  been  sorely  troubled  on  that  very 
score." 

Lord  Vernon,  having  invited  the  three  to  dine  with 
him  on  the  morrow,  bade  them  good  evening  and  rode 
off  amid  the  gay  costumes  and  equipages  which  gave  life 
and  animation  to  this  haunt  of  modern  pleasure  resting 
upon  the  bosom  of  ancient  decay.  The  Americans  hav- 
ing accepted  the  invitation,  Mr.  Maitland  assured  Philip 
he  had  found  a  friend  in  the  British  embassador,  who 
carried  his  fondness  for  horses  and  field  sports  to  such  a 
pitch,  that  he  highly  regarded  men  sharing  such  feelings. 

It  was  in  the  early  days  of  delicious  Italian  spring;  and 
while  the   iron   heart  of  winter   was   yet  unbroken  in 
28 


434  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

northern  Germany  and  England,  here,  in  the  closing  hours 
of  February,  many  spots  in  the  Eternal  City  exhibited 
the  slowly-accepted  influences  of  coming  rejuvenation 
among  the  trees  and  flowers.  Philip  and  Jagerndorf,  on 
their  way  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  beyond  the  Tiber, 
found  themselves  in  front  of  that  best-preserved  and  most 
impressive  of  all  the  relics  of  the  imperial  past — the  huge, 
rotund  and  time-blackened  Pantheon.  The  two  so  full 
of  the  pleasure  born  of  devotion  to  study  of  the  beautiful, 
paused  to  gaze  upon  the  massive  temple  which,  in  the 
grand  idea  of  its  first  dedication,  seems  to  have  contained 
a  prophecy  of  its  enduring  adaptation  to  all  the  exigen- 
cies of  the  world's  changing  creeds. 

"Let  us  go   in,"  said  Ludwig,  "here  is  the  tomb  of 
Raphael." 

"  A  fit  mausoleum,"  said  Philip,  "  for  him  whose  min- 
gled tenderness  and  strength  must  make  his  name  dearer 
to  you  modern  artists  than  any  of  the  old  masters." 

They  were  surveying  the  vast  dome,  exchanging  recol- 
lections of  the  great  deeds  and  changes  it  had  witnessed 
and  survived.  Philip  was  wondering  how  there  could  be 
such  an  air  of  majestic  simplicity  amid  so  many  things 
taudry  in  its  minor  accessories,  when  he  observed,  under 
the  circular  aperture  in  the  far-off  roof,  a  party  which 
had  just  entered.  The  group  consisted  of  a  man  and 
three  females ;  one,  from  her  manner,  he  supposed  to  be 
the  wife,  and  the  two  others  daughters.  Philip  and  Ja- 
gerndorf, as  they  passed  them  simultaneously  naused  to 
look  upon  one  of  the  young  ladies.  She  was  gazing  up 
silently  at  the  sky  through  the  opening  above,  and  the 
magic  of  her  wondrous  beauty  instantly  enchanted  both. 
The  lines  of  her  face  and  figure  were  ideal  in  their  per- 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon  435 

fection ;  but  sorrow  hallowed  and  exalted  attractions 
they  had  never  seen  equaled  in  the  human  countenance. 
Philip  observed  a  scarcely  perceptible  movement  of  her 
lips,  which  he  thought  were  breathing  some  sweet  prayer 
to  Him  whose  all-seeing  eye  was  typified  in  the  aperture 
through  which  her  half-uttered  j'-earnings  arose.  It  oc- 
curred to  him  he  had  surely  met  her  before,  and  he  was 
striving  to  recall  where  it  could  have  been,  when  her 
eyes  rested  upon  him  with  joyous  surprise,  as  if  in  recog- 
nition ;  but  the  next  instant  their  expression  had  changed 
into  that  cold  indifference  with  which  great  beauties  re- 
ward the  admiration  of  strangers.  Philip  felt  chagrined 
at  his  earnestness,  fearing  he  would  be  considered  rude, 
but  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  impression  of  their  pre- 
vious acquaintance.  As  they  were  reaching  the  entrance, 
he  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  and  the  dark,  lustrous 
eyes  still  followed  his  movements. 

"  The  expression  of  the  taller  of  those  young  ladies  re- 
minds me  of  Guido's  Beatrice  Cenci,"  said  Ludwig.  "  It 
is  even  more  beautifully  sad,  and  I  would  give  the  world 
for  the  opportunity  of  painting  her." 

"  Titian,"  said  Philip,  "  would  have  prized  such  a  privi- 
lege.    She  is  most  divinely  lovely." 

"  Even  fairer  than  the  Countess  of  Schulemberg,"  said 
Lugwig. 

"  Even  so,"  said  Philip.  "  The  countess  is  very  attract- 
ive, but  not  so  beautiful  as  this  goddess  of  the  Pantheon. 
It  occurs  to  me  I  have  seen  her  somewhere  before." 

"  I  have  beheld  such  faces  and  figures  in  my  dreams," 
said  Ludwig,  "  but  never  in  my  waking  moments.  Such 
perfection  does  not  exist  in  two  women  at  the  same  time, 
and  it  is  sad  to  think  we  may  never  meet  her  again." 


436  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

With  many  such  remarks  about  the  girl  they  had  seen 
in  the  heathen  temple,  which  had  been  for  twelve  cen- 
turies full  of  christian  shrines,  they  went  to  the  Castle  of 
St.  Angelo.  Mr.  Maitland  and  his  two  countrymen,  ac- 
cording to  their  promise,  proceeded  to  the  British  em- 
bassy. Lord  Vernon  had  introduced  much  English  com- 
fort into  the  dreary  palace  he  inhabited,  and  his  manner 
was  charming  to  the  pleasant  company  that  had  gather- 
ed before  the  arrival  of  the  Americans.  He  seemed  wait- 
ing for  some  one  else,  and  soon  a  Mr.  Hastings  and  his 
family  were  announced.  Philip  felt  a  thrill  of  unaccount- 
able pleasure  as  he  met  the  glance  of  the  lady  who  had 
.so  attracted  his  attention  that  morning  in  the  Pantheon. 
He  noticed  that  a  portion  of  the  shadow  had  passed  from 
her  brow,  and  in  the  short  conversation  before  dinner  he 
learned  that  Mr.  Hastings  had  been  recently  a  British 
consul  in  the  United  States. 

Philip  sat  next  to  Mrs.  Hastings  at  the  table,  while  Mr. 
Maitland  occupied  the  opposite  seat,  with  their  eldest 
daughter,  who  had  been  introduced  as  Miss  Venetia 
Hastings.  The  conversation  first  turned  upon  the  recent 
visit  of  the  two  young  men  to  the  desert,  but  Mrs.  Hast- 
ings and  Philip  soon  became  deeply  engaged  in  a  discus- 
sion of  her  stay  in  America.  To  him,  who  had  been  so 
long  an  exile  from  his  native  land,  this  was  a  delightful 
theme;  and  he  was  remarking  how  the  home  of  his 
childhood,  with  its  dear  faces,  overbalanced  all  the  attrac- 
tions he  found  in  Europe,  when  he  happened  to  glance  at 
Miss  Hastings,  and  the  same  tender  look  was  in  her  eyes 
that  filled  them  when  they  first  rested  upon  him  in  the 
Pantheon.  She  was  silent  at  the  time,  but  turned  to  Mr. 
Maitland  with  some  remark  connected  with  his  visit  to 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  437 

Naples.  There  was  such  surpassing  grace  in  her  manner 
Philip  could  not  forbear  observation,  and  when  the  ladies 
arose  to  leave  the  table  he  thought  he  had  never  been  in 
such  presence.  There  were  several  very  attractive  faces 
and  forms  among  them,  but  they  seemed  dwarfed  in  the 
queenly  stature  and  movements  of  fair  Venetia.  He  felt 
relieved  when  the  gentlemen  returned  to  the  drawing 
rooms  and  took  his  seat  at  her  side.  Hours  glided  away 
as  he  sat  conversing  with  her,  and  when  Mr.  Hastings, 
previous  to  his  departure,  saying  his  long  stay  in  America 
caused  the  citizens  of  that  land  to  seem  personal  friends, 
invited  Philip  to  visit  him  often  during  his  stay  in 
Rome,  he  who  was  slow  in  forming  attachments  gladly 
promised  he  would  do  so.  His  last  thought  before  sleep- 
ing, that  night,  was  of  the  sweet  tones  of  Venetia's  voice, 
adding  her  own  request  to  that  of  the  ex-consul. 

The  next  morning  the  two  Americans  were  in  Lud- 
wig's  studio.  The  artist  was  at  work,  finishing  a  superb 
picture  of  Iphigenia  in  Aulis.  The  daughter  of  Aga- 
memnon stood  adorned  for  the  horrible  oblation,  and 
stern  confederate  kings,  awaiting  the  costly  sacrifice,  filled 
the  middle  ground.  The  victim,  in  the  bloom  of  her 
youth,  seemed  almost  resigned  to  the  necessity  of  her 
fate;  but  in  the  pensive  face  was  knowledge  of  her  im- 
pending departure  from  the  warmth  and  light  dancing 
upon  the  blue  JEgean  waves.  White-robed  priests  and 
clouds  of  incense  filled  up  the  remainder  of  the  scene. 
Jagerndorf  was  full  of  his  subject ;  but  this  did  not  pre- 
vent interchange  of  ideas  with  his  friends. 

"  So,"  said  he,  "  you  met  our  Pantheon  divinity  at  Lord 
Vernon's  ?" 


438  The  Heirs  of  a.  Kilda. 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  "  and  she  lost  none  of  her  attributes 
on  closer  scrutiny." 

"  She  is  the  most  superb  woman  I  ever  met,  so  far  as 
external  appearance  and  grace  of  manner  extend,"  said 
Loundes.  "I  was  almost  dying  to  speak  with  her,  but 
she  was  evidently  so  absorbed  with  Philip,  I  forbore  to 
disturb  them.  How  is  it,  Don  Giovanni,  that  you  man- 
age to  interest  these  ladies  at  first  sight?  I  could  see 
even  at  the  dinner  table,  you  had  attracted  her  attention, 
and  while  you  were  talking  to  Mrs.  Hastings,  there  was, 
at  times,  on  her  brow  a  light  beautiful  enough  to  have 
streamed  out  of  Paradise." 

"  You  are  in  love  with  Miss  Hastings,"  said  Philip, 
"  and  imagine  these  pretty  things  you  so  .happily  describe. 
I  found  fair  Venetia  kind,  but  very  grave  and  lady-like 
in  her  manner.  I  have  never  seen  a  young  woman  who 
more  impressed  me  with  the  evident  absence  of  all 
coquetry  which    you  seem  to  irnply  in  your  remarks." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Loundes,  "  I  saw  nothing  indicating 
such  a  thing  ;  but  she  somehow  seemed  strangely  inter- 
ested in  your  society,  and  there  were  passing  glimpses  of 
a  great  joy  in  her  heart,  which  I  am  certain  has  known 
some  deep  sorrow  in  its  history." 

"  I  noticed,"  said  Jagerndorf,  "  in  the  Pantheon  the 
same  expression,  and  it  was  such  sublimated  grief  that  I 
fancied  she  must  owe  a  portion  of  her  beauty  to  its  pres- 
ence. I  am  trying  to  give  my  Iphigenia  a  trace  of  the 
same  feeling ;  but  my  poor  memory  has  lost  much  of  the 
original  charm  which  moved  me  so  yesterday.  Philip, 
the  last  evening  we  were  together  in  the  dear  old  Father- 
land, you    were   telling  me  of   a  cousin   you   loved   at 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  439 

home.  Are  you  still  determined  to  marry  her  on  your 
return  ?" 

"Most  assuredly;"  said  Philip,  "whatever  may  be  the 
pleasure  I  find  with  others,  I  have  never  yet  faltered  in 
my  allegiance  to  Rosamond-  She  has  not  written  to  me 
for  some  months  now,  and  as  I  shall  go  to  America  so 
soon,  in  my  last  letter  I  intimated  I  would  soon  follow." 

"  Philip,"  said  Loundes,  ■'  I  hope  you  will  not  be  so 
much  like  an  old  maid  here,  as  you  were  in  Germany. 
You  never  made  half  enough  love  to  the  countess,  and  I 
think  ought  to  have  forfeited  her  esteem  for  the  spiritless 
manner  in  which  you  received  the  undisguised  admira- 
tion of  a  princess.  If  it  had  been  myself,  I  should  have 
exhausted  my  eloquence  long  before  the  first  season  was 
over  at  the  opera-house." 

"  Charles,"  said  Philip,  "  do  not  jest.  The  Countess 
Theresa  and  myself  were  friends;  but  how  could  I  pre- 
tend to  feelings  I  never  possessed?  It  would  be  a  sub- 
ject of  bitter  regret  that  any  levity  of  mine  had  created  a 
false  hope  in  the  heart  of  a  man,  and  much  more  in  that 
of  a  woman." 

"  You  are  entirely  too  matter  of  fact  in  such  affairs," 
said  Loundes.  "  If  the  world  were  to  follow  your  ex- 
ample, we  should  have  no  more  flirtations,  and  the  girls 
would  become  very  insipid  things.  It  is  folly  in  them  to 
believe  all  we  tell  them,  and  they  generally  know  very 
well  how  far  to  trust  us." 

"  I  find  my  love  and  my  flirtations,"  said  Ludwig,  "  in 
the  creations  of  my  own  hands  and  brain ;  but  when  I 
was  almost  a  man  I  was  also  attracted  by  pretty  eyes. 
They  are  now  to  me  only  subservient  to  my  art.  If  they 
suggest  anything  I  have  not  before  delineated,  they  make 


440  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

me  happy;  but  they  are  generally  so  common-place  that 
only  when  I  see  some  rare  perfection  like  this  peerless 
Venetia's  do  I  stop  for  a  second  glance." 

Lord  Vernon  manifested  continued  interest  in  Philip's 
beautiful  Arabians,  and  one  evening  they  made  an  ex- 
cursion into  the  country,  to  enable  the  Englishman  to 
test  their  habits  under  the  saddle.  They  were  both  of 
large  size  for  their  breed,  and  but  for  the  sheik's  cupidity 
would  have  yet  remained  the  pride  of  a  desert  tribe.  The 
horsemen  took  their  way  through  the  gate  of  San  Sebas- 
tiani  along  the  world-famous  Via  Appia.  This  noble 
highway  which  had  been  constructed  two  thousand  years 
before  suggested  to  Philip  a  throng  of  stirring  memories. 
Through  the  malarious  and  now  deserted  Campagna, 
along  this  very  road,  what  mighty  hosts  had  marched  in 
triumph  or  fled  in  terrified  retreat !  Here  went  Pompey 
in  his  flight  from  Koine,  and  in  his  rear  followed  the 
imperious  and  conquering  Csesar.  Its  granite  blocks  had 
echoed  with  the  returning  tread  of  Scylla's  veterans  and 
with  the  flying  feet  of  those  bearing  intelligence  of  the 
fatal  disaster  at  Cannae. 

"  What  conflux  issuing  forth,  or  entering  in, 
Praetors,   proconsuls  to  their  provinces 
Hasting,  or  on  return,  in  robes  of  state  ; 
Lictors  and  rods,  the  ensigns  of  their  power, 
Legions  and  cohorts,  turms  of  horse  and  wings  ; 
Or  embassies  from  regions  far  remote 
In  various  habits  on  the  Appian  road." 

As  they  were  returning  to  the  city  they  were  overtaken 
by  the  carriage  of  Mr.  Hastings,  and  were  passing  along 
slowly  together  when  Lord  Vernon  remarked  : 

"  Miss  Hastings,  do  you  not  admire  these  horses  of  Mr. 
Eustace  ?M 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  441 

"  They  are  very  beautiful,"  said  Venetia.  "  What  are 
their  names,  Mr.  Eustace  ?" 

"  I  call  the  one  I  am  riding  Selim,  the  other  Rosa- 
mond." 

Miss  Hastings  turned  her  face  from  him  as  he  finished 
the  sentence,  and  Philip  did  not  perceive  her  altered  ex- 
pression.    Then  looking  up,  she  said  : 

"  Will  you  stroll  with  me  to-morrow  on  the  Pincian  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  do  so  ?" 

The  next  day  Philip  was  too  much  engrossed  with  the 
beauty  of  Venetia  to  linger  in  the  studio  of  Jagerndorf, 
and  went  early  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Hastings.  There  was ' 
a  warmth  in  his  invitations  which  strongly  contrasted 
with  the  usual  polite  indifference  of  strangers,  which  was 
very  pleasing  to  the  wear}'  young  traveller.  Indeed  he 
noticed  a  freedom  from  restraint  in  the  conduct  of  those 
he  met  in  Rome,  entirely  different  from  the  society  in 
which  he  had  mingled  elsewhere.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
general  consent  that  people  should  live  in  a  way  that 
seemed  best  to  themselves,  without  that  troublesome 
espionage  too  many  in  other  places  exercise  in  their  neigh- 
bors' affairs.  Even  Lord  Vernon,  representing  the  most 
reserved  people  in  the  world,  had  from  the  first  shown  a 
kindness  and  frank  disregard  of  mere  conventionalities 
grateful  to  Philip,  who  had  in  the  last  year  seen  innu- 
merable faces,  but  was  all  the  while  impressed  with  the 
fact  that  his  existence  to  them  was  a  subject  of  utter 
disregard.  The  Englishman  was  doubtless  more  inter- 
ested in  the  horses  Philip  had  obtained  with  so  much 
trouble  than  with  himself,  but  this  did  not  appear  in  the 
respectful  attentions  he  bestowed  upon  the  two  young 
men. 


442  The  Heirs  of  Si  Kilda. 

Edward  Hastings  was  a  man  of  culture  and  attain- 
ments. His  life  had  been  spent  in  literary  industry,  and 
he  had  attained  some  celebrity  as  an  author.  To  further 
his  desire  for  a  stay  of  considerable  extent,  his  friends  in 
power  had  accredited  him  as  consul  to  one  of  the  south- 
ern cities  of  the  United  States,  and  he  was  now  able  to 
live  in  elegant  ease  on  the  income  received  from  the  sale 
of  his  books.  He  found  a  more  congenial  home  beneath 
the  glorious  light  and  azure  skies  of  Italy  than  in  the 
clouds  and  humidit}'  of  England,  and  thus  lived  at 
Rome. 

"  Mr.  Eustace,"  said  he,  "  as  you  have  been  in  the  old 
world  for  three  years,  and  have  latterly  seen  so  many 
ruins,  I  suppose  Rome  is  less  striking  to  you  than  to  my- 
self wrho  have  so  long  lived  amid  the  prosperous  and  ex- 
panding states  of  your  country.  I  saw  nothing  of  decay 
there,  but  everything  bore  the  impress  of  earnest  utility 
and  recent  creation.  I  made  scarcely  any  stay  in  Eng- 
land, hurrying  here  for  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Hastings' 
health,  and  you  may  imagine  howr  grand  and  gloomy  to 
me  the  Eternal  City  appears." 

"  Rome  is  very  mournful  to  me  also,"  said  Philip,  "  but 
I  do  not  experience  the  tender  regret  for  her  fate  which  I 
felt  as  I  stood  amid  the  ruins  of  the  Acropolis.  The  very 
gradeur  and  duration  of  Roman  rule  should  have  been 
enough  to  satisfy  the  claims  almost  of  a  world,  much  less 
tljose  of  a  city." 

Philip  and  the  divine  Venetia  went  on  their  stroll  to 
the  Pincian.  If  the  city  was  saddening  in  its  aspects 
elsewhere,  here  were  beautiful  verdure  and  shade,  and 
the  grounds  were  full  of  gay  people.  The  fountains  threw 
up  their  jets  of  water;  and  above  all,  was  the  incompar- 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  343 

able  Italian  sky.  The  colors  of  the  picturesque  costumes 
were  more  brilliant  than  one  could  imagine  the  same 
material  could  possibly  appear  seen  in  a  different  climate. 
The  scene,  with  its  lawns,  marble  basins,  and  avenues 
bordered  with  busts  of  those  who  have  made  Italy  the 
admiration  of  all  the  world,  was  so  fair  and  full  of  ani- 
mation, they  could  but  feel  happy.  Philip,  as  much  as 
he  enjoyed  such  things,  as  he  glanced  at  the  thoughtful 
face  at  his  side,  confessed  in  his  heart  that  after  all  here 
was  the  highest  effort  nature  had  yet  shown  him  of  all 
her  gifts.  The  richness  of  the  dark  mourning  Venetia 
wore  heightened  the  effect  of  her  calm  and  noble  pres- 
ence, and  her  companion  observed  a  gradual  disappear- 
ance of  the  cloud  he  had  seen  on  her  brow  when  he  first 
beheld  her  in  the  Pantheon. 

"  These  clustering  trees  and  beautiful  flowers,"  said  she, 
"are  so  refreshing  to  me,  I  feel  as  if  coming  from  under 
the  shadow  of  death  into  a  new-born  immortality.  This 
great  mouldering  city  with  all  its  fame  and  remaining 
beauty  impresses  me  with  its  look  of  voiceless  grief.  It 
seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  really  what  Lord  Byron  called 
it,  '  the  Niobe  of  nations  ;'  yet  these  trees,  and  plants,  and 
the  green  sward,  are  as  fresh  as  those  gladdening  our  first 
parents  before  their  sin  in  Paradise." 

"You  must  be  fond  of  nature,"  said  Philip,  "  and  I  am 
sure  there  ought  to  be  a  sympathy  between  yourself  and 
all  other  beautiful  things  ;  fori  am  persuaded  there  .is 
some  general  law  of  affinity  linking  like  unto  like.  I  am 
not  astonished  that  you  should  prefer  the  eternal  fresh- 
ness of  God's  creations  among  things  inanimate  to  the 
crumbling  traces  of  human  genius  and  ambition." 

"  Do  not  understand  me,"  said  she,  "  as  undervaluing 


444  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

art.  I  love  the  old  Pantheon  where  we  first  met,  and  I 
feel  inexpressibly  moved,  Protestant  as  I  am,  whenever  I 
visit  St.  Peters.  I  love  to  enter  some  of  these  many 
time-worn  basilicas  when  the  choir  chants  its  evening 
hymn  to  the  Virgin  :  I  listen  to  the  tender  music  and 
see  the  glorified  light  coming  through  the  great  windows; 
I  lift  up  my  own  heart  in  prayer,  and  it  seems  then  I  am 
nearer  heaven  than  if  I  had  not  received  the  beautiful 
influences  coming  to  my  soul  so  thickly  at  such  an 
hour." 

"  I  fear  you  will  be  so  captivated  with  these  striking 
accessories  which  the  Roman  church  throws  around  her 
worship,  we  shall  lose  you  from  our  faith.  I  can  very 
well  understand  your  feelings ;  and  the  danger  is  not 
great  if  you  are  watchful  enough  to  separate  your  emo- 
tions evoked  in  the  merelv  earthly  music  and  architec- 
tural  effects  from  the  spirit  and  claims  of  the  religion 
itself." 

"  Oh  do  not  think  I  can  ever  worship  a  saint  or  imagine 
a  wafer  the  body  of  our  Savior  ;  but  there  is  such  a  balm 
to  the  troubled  spirit  in  many  of  the  Catholic  forms  as  I 
am  away  here  from  our  church  I  think  it  no  sin  to  forget 
the  differences  which  divide  me  from  the  theology  of  this 
people,  who,  after  all,  worship  the  same  God  with  myself. 
If  you  will  come  often  aud  lead  my  poor  thoughts  into 
the  right  channel,  I  am  confident  my  occasional  prayers 
at.  vespers  will  not  mislead  my  heart." 

Philip  looked  into  the  dark  eyes  raised  so  trustingly 
to  his  own,  and  thought  he  had  seen  them  in  all  the 
sweet  dreams  of  his  life. 

"  That  would  be  the  most  delightful  task  I  ever  as- 
sumed ;  but  how  could  the  teacher  hope  to  resist  the  im- 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  445 

pressions  of  such  a  pupil  ?  I  fear  I  should  soon  surrender 
the  control  of  my  heart  in  efforts  to  guard  your  mind 
from  the  approach  of  error." 

"  I  pray  you,  do  not  mock  me  with  gallant  speeches. 
I  have  felt  so  lonely  before  I  met  you,  O  so  lonely  !" 

The  meek  head  bent  over,  and  the  bright  beams  of  the 
Italian  evening  rested  upon  it.  Philip  felt  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  that  here  was  a  being  in  whose  presence 
existence  would  become  one  long  study  of  the  holy  and 
beautiful. 

"  I  have  become  very  weak,"  said  Venetia,  "  full  of  emo- 
tions beyond  my  control ;  and,  Mr.  Eustace,  I  have  felt  a 
calmness  in  your  presence  that  is  very  pleasant.  I  have 
hoped  we  would  become  good  friends." 

"  I  would  be  in  despair,"  said  Philip,  "  if  I  thought 
you  could  regard  me  as  in  any  way  indifferent  to  your 
welfare.  I  am  impressed,  whenever  I  look  in  your  eyes, 
that  I  have  seen  you  before,  for  they  are  to  me  like  some 
dimly  remembered  dream  of  the  past.  I  not  only  enjoy 
your  presence,  but  there  steals  upon  me  a  sense  of  delici- 
ous bliss.  I  fear  I  am  doing  wrong  in  this  very  joy  I 
experience,  for  duty  should  control  us  through  life,  and 
mere  happiness  should  be  subordinated  to  its  control." 

"  I  can  assure  you  there  can  be  no  harm  in  our  joy. 
God  never  intended  us  to  be  unhappy,  unless  we  make 
ourselves  so.  Yes,  we  can,"  said  she,  with  a  thoughtful 
pause.  "  The  only  great  sorrow  I  ever  knew  came  to  me 
out  of  the  bosom  of  innocent  bliss ;  but  that  grief  may 
have  been  the  child  of  misapprehension.  I  am  hoping 
for  a  joy  which  shall  be  more  lasting,  and  in  its  sunshine 
I  shall  be  all  the  happier  that  a  fleeting  cloud  intervened 
between  me  and  the  source  of  my  illumination." 


446  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

She  looked  up  with  a  countenance  which  the  divinity 
of  hope  was  surrounding  with  an  aureola  of  its  own  efful- 
gence, and  Philip  thought  of  his  duty  to  Rosamond  as  he 
felt  love  deep  and  uncontrollable  for  the  saintly  beauty 
at  his  side.  The  realization  brought  a  pang  to  his  heart 
which  pictured  itself  on  his  face  as  he  turned  sorrowfully 
away.  When  his  glance  again  rested  upon  her,  Venetia 
was  looking  across  the  Borghese  gardens  upon  the  mys- 
terious and  sullen  outline  of  the  Egyptian  obelisk.  She 
was  regarding,  with  all  that  touching  sadness  which  had 
so  moved  him  in  the  Pantheon,  the  strange  relic  of  an 
age  so  vast  that  Abraham  may  have  seen  it  on  the  Nile. 
He  felt  that  he  was  in  a  painful  dilemma,  for  if  he  con- 
tinued these  conferences,  he  would  become  more  hope- 
lessly fascinated  by  her  who  so  freely  opened  her  heart 
to  his  inspection.  He  was  conscious  that  her  delicacy  of 
perception  had  instantly  taken  cognizance  of  his  momen- 
tary throe  of  self-reproach,  for  he  saw  a  return  of  grief  to 
her  face ;  so  with  a  resolution  to  restrain  such  thoughts 
while  in  her  presence,  he  remarked  : 

"  I  would  almost  give  my  life  to  lift  this  shadow  which 
I  see  on  your  brow.  I  do  not  seek  to  know  this  grief  to 
which  you  have  referred,  but  if  you  will  rely  upon  one 
who  cares  too  much  for  your  happiness  to  add  to  his  own, 
whatever  I  can  do  consistent  with  my  duty  to  you  and 
myself,  shall  not  be  withheld.  I  have  sorrowed  in  the 
loss  of  a  dear  father  and  the  former  blindness  of  my  sister, 
and  know  what  it  is  to  be  burdened  with  grief;  but  you 
have  hope  that  the  clouds  which  have  rested  upon  you 
will  soon  disappear.  I  beseech  you  to  disperse  them  all, 
and  trust  in  that  superintending  care  which  has  promised 
to  bring  good  out  of  all  things." 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheaa.  447 

"  I  am  so  grateful  to  you  for  that  remark,"  said  she. 
"  The  suggestion  of  an  evil  which  my  soul  dreads  worse 
than  death  obscured  my  vision  for  a  moment.  Now  I  am 
willing  to  risk  all  to  Him  who  "  tempers  the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb,"  if  you  will  only  promise  to  often  give  me 
such  good  council  in  the  future." 

"  My  stay  in  Rome  is  necessarily  brief,"  said  Philip, 
with  a  sigh.  "  I  must  return  to  America ;  but  in  the 
meanwhile,  whatever  I  can  say  or  do  to  add  to  your 
pleasure  shall  not  be  withheld." 

They  returned  in  the  twilight  through  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo,  passing  under  the  black  shadow  of  the  overhang- 
ing obelisk.  They  were  just  leaving  the  Corso  for  the  Via 
del  Babuino,  when  Philip  observed  a  man  who  was  pass- 
ing them  start  as  if  in  astonishment.  He  looked  back, 
and  the  figure  had  stopped  and  was  gazing  after  them.  As 
they  slowly  proceeded  on,  Philip  several  times  caught 
glimpses  of  the  man  stealthily  hanging  upon  their  tracks 
as  if  observing  their  motions.  The  moon  was  beginning 
to  gild  the  domes  of  St.  Peters  and  the  Pantheon,  and  they 
paused  to  look  on  the  beautiful  scene,  now  so  full  of  light 
that  the  archangel  on  the  summit  of  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo  was  almost  distinguishable.  Philip  having  seen 
Venetia  home,  walked  rapidly  back  to  encounter  his  mys- 
terious pursuer,  but  he  had  glided  off  in  the  shadows 
and  all  trace  of  him  was  lost. 

Day  by  day  Philip  realized  more  fully  to  himself  that 
he  was  in  love  with  the  beautiful  being  who,  if  he  could 
trust  her  own  words,  was  so  unaccountably  attached  to 
himself.  One  evening  when  alone  with  Mr.  Hastings, 
having  been  talking  of  America  and  his  approaching 
return,  he  told  him  of  his  engagement  to  Rosamond.  He 


448  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

was  fearful  the  interest  Venetia  evinced  in  him  might 
lead  her  into  unhappy  hopes,  but  this  disclosure  occasion- 
ed no  dimunition  of  the  kindness  previously  shown  him, 
and  Philip  felt  half  ashamed  at  what  he  supposed  the 
suggestions  of  his  own  vanity.  He  remembered  his  ex- 
perience with  the  Countess  of  Schulemberg,  and  while  it 
gave  him  a  false  confidence  in  his  own  power  of  self- 
control,  yet  it  caused  him  to  recognize  the  possibility  of 
Venetia's  love. 

For  a  month  he  surrendered  himself  to  the  delicious 
joy  of  her  presence.  Together  they  had  explored  the  old 
palaces  of  the  Doria,  Borghese,  Corsini ;  and  were  one 
day  examining  pictures  in  the  Colonna  when  Philip, 
who  had  been  for  some  time  half-convinced  that  Venetia 
was  loving  him  too  well  for  her  own  happiness,  resolved 
on  his  departure  for  America.  She  had  been  as  lovely 
and  bright  that  day  as  the  sunshine  of  Italy  ;  and  so  con- 
vinced was  Philip  that  he  must  leave  Rome  if  he  ever 
expected  to  be  happy  with  Rosamond  as  his  wife,  he  told 
Venetia  of  his  intention.  Tears  came  into  her  eyes  and 
the  old  Pantheon  shadow  settled  on  her  brow ;  but  there 
was  evident  determination  in  the  drawn  lines  about  her 
mouth,  as  if  she  were  preparing  her  heart  for  a  great  sac- 
rifice. Philip's  resolution  was  much  shaken  as  her 
slender  hand  trembled  in  his  grasp,  and  he  would  have 
given  the  world  to  have  told  her  the  love  in  his  heart ; 
but,  at  all  events,  his  plighted  faith  must  be  kept.  Defer- 
ring his  departure  would  be  only  increasing  his  and  her 
torture  ;  so,  with  steady  voice  and  a  glance  which  sought 
to  convey  only  a  brother's  kindness,  he  walked  away. 

Philip  could  not  resist  his  desire  of  seeing  her  once 
more  that  evening,  and  waited  in  the  street,  near  the 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  449 

'church  at  which  she  usually  attended  vespers  until  he 
saw  her  approach.  He  stood  in  the  shadow,  so  she  was 
unconscious  of  his  presence  when  she  passed,  and  he  saw 
she  was  in  deep  sorrow.  The  beautiful  head  which  rose 
so  queenly  whenever  a  gleam  of  joy  entered  her  soul, 
drooped  as  if  in  despair,  and  following  her  was  a  form 
instantly  recognized  by  Philip  as  the  man  who  had  so 
persistently  pursued  them  on  the  evening  of  their  first 
stroll  on  the  Pincian.  The  strange  figure  followed 
Venetia  into  the  building,  and  his  face  was  so  concealed 
by  a  slouched  hat  and  other  disguises,  Philip's  suspicions 
were  aroused  that  in  some  way  this  person  must  have 
been  the  cause  of  her  sorrow.  The  possibility  of  his 
haunting  her  as  a  mysterious  persecutor  awoke  the  indig- 
nation of  a  heart  ready  to  face  death  in  behalf  of  those 
much  less  beloved,  and  he  kept  his  post  of  observation 
until  the  sorrowing  maiden  came  out  of  the  church,  fol- 
lowed by  her  strange  attendant. 

Philip  could  not  resist  the  impression  that  his  duty  re- 
quired him  to  keep  Venetia  in  sight  until  she  reached 
home,  and  fathom,  if  possible,  this  secret  surveillance  of 
one  she  had  never  mentioned  to  him.  It  was  growing 
dark,  and  after  passing  some  distance  he  could  perceive 
that  the  pursuer  was  rapidly  approaching  her.  Philip 
heard  him  speak,  and  the  next  instant  he  had  seized  her. 
She  made  an  effort  to  scream,  but  the  hand  of  the  villain 
was  on  her  mouth.  The  profaning  touch  was  speedily 
removed,  for  a  strong  arm  doubly  nerved  by  love  and 
rage  struck  the  aggressor  to  the  earth.  As  he  fell  a  pis- 
tol was  fired  by  a  confederate  from  behind,  the  ball  from 
which  grazed  Philip's  temple.  He  turned  upon  his  new 
assailant,  but  he  immediately  fled,  and  the  man  on  the 
29 


450  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

ground  in  the  meanwhile  drawing  a  revolver  discharged 
one  of  its  balls  into  the  shoulder  of  him  who  had  thus 
baffled  his  purposes.  The  assassin  was  stricken  to 
the  ground  by  a  blow  dealt  by  a  policeman.  His 
wounded  antagonist  turned  his  attention  to  Venetia,  who 
was  bewildered  by  the  violence  of  the  scene.  Philip 
stated  the  circumstances  to  the  policeman  who,  for  a 
wonder  in  Rome,  was  prompt  enough  to  be  of  service, 
and,  giving  his  own  and  Mr.  Hasting's  address,  went  with 
his  fair  charge  toward  her  home. 

Venetia  was  so  stunned  she  did  not  discover  at  first 
that  Philip,  who  was  trying  to  soothe  her  agitation,  was 
wounded  ;  but  when  they  had  nearly  reached  Mr.  Hast- 
ings' house,  she  became  awTare  of  it  by  the  dripping  of 
blood  from  his  clothing.  With  a  great  effort  she  master- 
ed her  agony  of  apprehension,  when  entering  the  door  he 
became  so  faint  he  would  have  fallen  but  for  assistance. 
A  surgeon  was  soon  procured,  who  insisted  that  the 
wounded  man  should  stir  as  little  as  possible.  Philip 
was  anxious  to  return  to  his  lodgings,  but  Mr.  Hastings 
wrould  not  consent  to  this.  He  said  it  was  his  duty  and 
pleasure  to  take  care  of  one  who  had  protected  his  adopt- 
ed daughter.  To  these  solicitations  the  fair  Venetia  ad- 
ded such  sweet  entreaties  that  the  sufferer,  who  could  not 
think  of  being  so  near  her  without  pleasure,  was  forced 
to  consent.  Charles  Loundes  and  Ludwig  Jagerndorf 
having  been  sent  for,  were  soon  at  his  bedside  to  aid  the 
fairer  nurses.  The  patient  the  next  day  became  deliri- 
ous and  in  the  wanderings  of  his  mind,  was  constantly 
talking  of  his  double  love  for  Venetia  and  Rosamond. 
The  grief-stricken  maiden  was  tireless  in  her  attentions, 
and  often  as  the  two  friends  sat  watching  the  beautiful 


A  new  Goddess  in  the  Pantheon.  451 

figure,  hovering  over  him  they  loved,  strange  gleams  of 
joy  brightened  her  face,  as  some  murmur  of  the  pallid 
lips  breathed  her  name  in  accents  of  affection.  Mr. 
Hastings  surveyed,  with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher,  this 
rare  devotion  Philip  seemed  to  inspire  in  all  who  ap- 
proached him,  and  it  recalled  to  his  mind  George  Her- 
bert's declaration : 

"More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he'll  take  notice  of.    In  every  path, 

He  treads  down  that  which  doth  befriend  him 

When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
Oh  mighty  love  !    Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 

Another  to  attend  him." 


452  2he  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

LIGHT   IN    THE   COLISEUM. 

A  If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms, 
May  the  winds  blow  'till  they  have  wakeh'd  death  ! 
And  let  the  laboring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas 
Olyiapus-high;  and  duck  again  as  low 
As  hell 's  from  heaven !    If  it  were  now  to  die, 
'  Twere  now  to  be  most  happy;  for,  I  fear, 
My  soul  hath  a  content  so  absolute, 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate." 

—Othello. 

Italian  spring  was  each  day  calling  from  the  bond- 
age of  its  silken  sheath  some  new  miracle  of  beauty  in 
the  luxuriant  foliage.  The  opening  buds  gradually  be- 
came more  gorgeous,  and  with  this  fulness  of  restored 
perfection  in  the  flowers,  returned  the  first  faint  glow  of 
coming  health  to  the  pallid  face  of  Philip  Eustace.  Hav- 
ing safely  passed  through  the  crisis  of  his  danger,  with 
his  natural  endowments  of  strength  and  health,  it  was 
seen  there  was  no  longer  a  necessity  for  his  confinement 
to  the  sickroom.  The  gentle  watcher,  in  whose  defence 
he  had  received  his  hurt,  had  never  manifested  a  look  of 
weariness  in  all  her  vigils.  After  conferences  with  the 
surgeon  and  Charles  Loundes,  concerning  herself  and 
Philip,  he,  who  had  been  so  long  his  dear  friend  and 
fellow- wanderer  yielded  precedence  in  the  direction  of 
affairs,  as  if  she  possessed  superior  claims.  The  artist 
and  he  would  sit  quietly  for  hours  at  a  time,  and  gaze 
awe-stricken  on  the  beautiful  maiden,  the  light  on  whose 
brow  had  become  as  that  of  an  angel.  Ludwig  had  studied 
this  sorrow  chastening  the  antique  elegance  of  her  out- 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  453 

lines  until  in  his  studio  was  now  a  picture  far  advanced 
towards  completion,  preserving  the  expression  which  had 
so  fascinated  him  in  the  Pantheon. 

To  Philip's  two  friends  Venetia  became  half  divine, 
deepening  and  entirety  exceeding  their  previous  concep- 
tions of  the  sacred  purity  and  tenderness  of  a  true  wo- 
man's love.  Loundes  had  known  the  rare  perfections  of 
Mariana,  but  in  his  recollection  of  her  there  was  nothing 
to  parallel  this  self-forgetfulness  and  devotion  which 
seemed  suspending  the  frailty  of  human  nature.  He  al- 
most realized  the  old  fables  of  immortal  beauty  descend- 
ing from  Olympic  courts  to  watch  over  and  sustain  suf- 
fering heroes.  Mariana  was  pure  as  the  driven  snow,  but 
in  Venetia  every  movement  and  expression  was  indica- 
tive of  a  love  which  had  converted  the  woman  into  an 
angelic  guardian  of  the  object  of  her  attachment.  Mariana 
had  never  exhibited  capacity  for  a  sentiment  on  the  con- 
tinuance of  which  her  own  existence  depended.  In  no 
earthly  source  were  the  fountains  of  enjoyment  to  her 
who  had  walked  so  long  in  blindness,  but  it  was  plain  to 
all  that  the  very  life  of  Venetia  was  involved  in  that  of 
Philip,  and  she  seemed  to  have  no  thought  but  of  him. 
There  were  no  visits  to  the  churches  at  vespers  for  pray- 
ers; from  her  heart  was  rising  a  continual  incense  of 
supplication  for  the  life  and  happiness  of  him  who 


"  Lay  like  one  in  trance, 
That  bears  his  burial  talked  of  by  his  friends, 
And  cannot  speak,  nor  move,  nor  make  one  sign, 
But  lies  and  dreads  his  doom." 


The  delicate  perception  of  Jiigerndorf  read  t  he  secret  of 
her  calmness  in  the  upturned  face,  and  felt  that  he  was 


454  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

in  an  atmosphere  to  which  all  his  previous  conceptions 
were  gross  and  earthly. 

Philip's  reason  was  too  weak  to  resist  the  emotions  of 
his  heart  whenever  he  saw  Venetia  at  his  bedside ;  and 
with  low,  feeble  tones  told  the  story  of  his  love  for  her. 
As  he  looked  into  her  tender  eyes,  resting  so  unfaltering- 
ly upon  his  own,  he  read  more  of  her  heart  than  her  own 
maidenly  confessions  conveyed.  To  his  mind  sometimes 
half  reproachfully  stole  up  the  image  of  his  cousin  as  he 
had  seen  her  in  their  last  interview,  but  that  period 
seemed  to  belong  to  a  life  long  gone  by.  The  Rosamond 
he  had  loved  was  in  some  strange  way  lost  and  con- 
founded in  this  superb  Venetia,  who  had  broken  down  all 
his  strong  resolutions,  and  drew  from  him,  in  spite  of  all  his 
struggles  to  the  contrary,  the  long  withheld  story  of  his 
over-mastering  devotion  to  herself.  There  was  a  dim  con- 
viction in  his  mind  that  Providence  was  in  some  myste- 
rious way  sanctioning  this  love  from  which  he  had  at  first 
shrank  as  contrary  to  his  duty.  He  now  had  no  thought 
of  what  should  be  the  result  of  all  this  present  happiness ; 
it  was  so  full  and  complete  it  seemed  to  him  its  very  re- 
collection would  compensate  for  years  of  subsequent  sor- 
row. He  wondered  if  he  could  ever  again  grow  unhap- 
py under  any  circumstances  with  the  knowledge  of  such 
devotion  having  been  lavished  upon  him.  Venetia's 
family  knew  of  his  engagement  to  Rosamond,  yet  they 
made  no  objection  to  the  tie  which  was  in  their  very 
eyes,  day  by  day,  growing  stronger  between  himself  and 
their  adopted  daughter.  This  was  all  mystery  to  Philip, 
and  in  his  weakness  he  turned  from  anything  so  difficult 
to  grasp,  as  wearisome  and  hopeless  of  solution.  He  ac- 
cepted the  present  as  he  found  it,  and  surrendered  him- 


Light  in  the  Coliseum,.  455 

self  to  the  delicious  interchange  of  those  nameless  endear- 
ments which  hallow  and  sweeten  the  glamour  of  youthful 
attachments.  Barren  have  been  the  joys  of  life  to  those 
who,  in  the  golden  memories  of  that  vanished  era,  fail  to 
recall  some  such  visions  of  bliss. 

Lord  Vernon  and  Mr.  Maitland  were  very  kind  to 
Philip  in  his  days  of  suffering.  They  had  exerted  them- 
selves to  discover  the  names  of  his  assailants.  One  had 
escaped,  but  he  who  fired  the  pistol-shot  which  wounded 
him,  though  confined  to  a  dungeon  since  that  night,  had 
obstinately  withheld  his  name.  Mr.  Maitland,  from  what 
he  could  learn,  supposed  the  prisoner  to  be  an  American. 
The  Papal  system  of  criminal  procedure  was  so  secret  that 
few  disclosures  were  made  by  the  authorities,  in  relation 
to  the  case,  and  these  were  obtained  with  difficulty.  An 
officer  connected  with  the  courts,  having  taken  the  de- 
positions of  Philip  and  Venetia,  was  kind  enough  to  pro- 
cure for  the  injured  man  a  sight  of  the  pistol  with  which 
he  had  been  shot. 

On  pleasant  evenings  Lord  Vernon  frequently  sent  a 
carriage  in  which  Philip  and  his  fair  companion  basked 
in  the  loveliness  of  the  skies  and  found  fresh  delight  in 
the  face  of  now  fully-attired  nature.  Philip  in  his  ill- 
ness had  lost  the  bronze  imparted  by  long  travel  and 
exposure,  and  his  pale  cheeks  and  flowing  brown  hair 
caused  him  to  resemble  some  of  the  old  pictures  in  the 
city. 

Ludwig  Jagerndorf  was  gratified  in  the  wish  expressed 
for  the  opportunity  of  painting  Venetia's  portrait.  One 
day  as  he  was  at  work  on  this  engagement,  Philip,  having 
heard  Charles  Loundes  refer  to  a  beautiful  QEnone  which 
had  made  its  appearance  in  the  studio  since  his  illness, 


456  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kida. 

asked  Ludwig  to  show  him  the  work.  The  artist  put 
down  his  pallet  and  brushes,,  and  brought  from  the  other 
end  of  the  room  a  full-length  picture  which  had  been 
turned  to  the  wall  in  their  previous  visits.  Philip  was 
astounded  to  behold  a  complete  reproduction  of  Venetia 
as  they  saw  her  in  the  Pantheon. 

"  This,"  said  Jagemdorf  to  the  maiden,  "  is  CEnone  after 
the  desertion  of  Paris.  Can  you  imagine  who  suggested 
my  subject  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "it  much  resembles  myself;  but  I 
surely  never  looked  so  sad  as  that  white-robed  figure." 

"  Ludwig,"  said  Philip,  "  I  must  by  all  means  possess 
it." 

"  I  have  intended  it  as  a  present  for  you,"  said  Jagern- 
dorf, "  as  a  memento  of  your  kindness  to  Sigismund  and 
myself." 

"  You  have  more  than  repaid  me,"  said  Philip,  "long 
ago,  in  your  own  kindness ;  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
tell  you  how  much  I  prize  this  picture.  It  is  almost  as 
beautiful  as  the  new  goddess  of  the  Pantheon." 

"  He  will  spoil  me  with  vanity,"  said  Venetia,  "  if  he 
speaks  in  this  way,  Mr.  Ludwig." 

"  There  can  be  but  little  harm,"  said  Ludwig,  "  in  your 
hearing  such  speeches  when  every  eye  that  beholds  you 
is  eloquent  with  the  same  sentiment." 

"  How  can  you,  Ludwig,"  said  Philip,.  "  with  so  much 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful,, have  hitherto  failed  in  pay- 
ing that  last  and  supreme  homage  to  its  claims  implied 
in  the  term  love  ?  You  are  attracted  by  the  loveliness  of 
nature,  but  how  have  you  failed  of  that  higher  affinity 
between  two  hearts  ?  The  calm  of  your  life  may  be  less 
disturbed,  but   the  very   monotony  of  your   sensations 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  457 

must,  at  last,  pall  in  their  want  of  fruition.  Repose  and 
immunity  from  the  usual  disturbances  of  life  are  low 
pleasures — at  best  but  little  surpassing  the  unreasoning 
content  of  well-fed  animals.  We  find  in  the  precarious 
tenure  of  human  love  those  higher  joys  the  more  prized 
in  the  very  knowledge  they  can  be  so  easily  lost.  The 
bird  which  has  never  known  the  pleasures  of  a  pinion 
may  be  quiet  in  the  cage, 


"And  what  may  count  itself  as  blest, 
The  heart  that  never  plighted  troth ;" 


but  after  all  we  owe  our  happiness  to  a  conformity  with 
natural  laws,  and  they  point  to  the  necessity  of  man's 
looking  to  his  other  self  for  the  bestowment  of  content." 

"You  are  doubtless  happier,"  said  Ludwig,  "than  I 
have  ever  been  at  any  time  in  my  life  ;  but  not  having 
found  one  upon  whom  to  lavish  my  affection  with  the 
prospect  of  its  return,  art  has  come  to  me  in  its  stead ;  and 
I  find  pleasure  in  toil,  which  so  increases  with  years,  my 
dearest  hope  is  to  be  undisturbed.  It  gives  me  joy  to  see 
you  happy,  but  I  should  fear  to  risk  my  own  frail  bark 
on  such  an  untried  sea  as  the  whole  subject  would  be  to 
me." 

"  Ah  !  M.  Ludwig,"  said  Venetia,  "  I  fear  you  are  a 
hardened  old  bachelor,  but  I  know  you  can  love  your 
friends  very  dearly.  You  were  as  tender  as  any  woman 
to  our  patient  in  his  illness." 

Several  weeks  had  passed  away  since  Philip  felt  any 
inconvenience  from  his  wounds.  The  surgeon  and  his 
friends  remonstrated  whenever  he  proposed  starting 
homeward,  insisting  he  was  not  yet  sufficiently  restored 


458  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

for  the  long  journey  across  Europe  and  the  Atlantic 
ocean.  His  mirror  exhibited  a  face  so  thin  and  wan,  he 
was  forced  to  agree  with,  their  advice  aud  his  own  incli- 
nations to  remain  longer  in  the  presence  ol  Venetia. 
Now  he  found  himself  so  much  restored,  he  removed  to 
his  own  lodgings,  and  conscience  was  beginning  to  whis- 
per the  wrong  of  longer  delay  in  his  departure.  If  he 
had  analysed  his  feelings,  he  would  have  been  puzzled 
to  account  for  the  madness  of  deferring  a  separation  all 
along  recognized  as  inevitable  and  not  remote;  but  still, 
with  a  feeling  that  was  unreasonable  to  himself,  he  ling- 
ered for  a  few  days  longer.  Life  beyond  that  time  had 
but  little  promise.  He  still  remembered  Rosamond  with 
kindness,  and  he  never  thought  of  blaming  her  for  the 
the  painful  position  to  which  his  own  weakness  and  the 
force  of  circumstances  had  reduced  him. 

Much  of  his  time  was  spent  in  the  company  of  her  who 
became  dearer  as  the  hour  of  parting  approached.  The 
last  time  he  had  seen  Venetia,  on  referring  to  his  deter- 
mination, he  was  surprised  that  she  manifested  so  little 
of  the  old  grief  which  once  clouded  her  brow  whenever 
he  spoke  of  their  separation.  More  than  two  weeks  ago 
he  had  sent  his  horses,  by  way  of  Paris,  to  the  sea-coast, 
to  be  ready  to  go  with  him  to  America ;  when  one  even- 
ing he  was  alone,  and  was  surprised  to  receive  a  letter 
which  had  been  lying  for  months  uncalled-for  in  the 
French  capital.  He  recognized  his  grandfather's  hand- 
writing on  the  envelope,  and  was  afraid  of  sad  news 
from  home,  as  he  hastened  to  break  the  seal.  It  began 
with  a  statement  of  the  good  health  blessing  the  family 
at  Ellesmere,  and  the  anxiety  with  which  they  awaited 
his  arrival  for  he  had  written  he  would  be  at  home  about 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  459 

that  time.  Philip  felt  conscience-stricken  as  he  read,  "I 
have  something  painful  to  relate  in  relation  to  your 
cousin  Rosamond,  in  whom,  until  recently,  we  were  all 
so  proud  and  happy.  She  left  school,  the  most  lovely 
and  attractive  young  woman  it  has  been  my  good  for- 
tune to  see  in  all  my  life.  We  were  charmed  as  much 
by  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition  as  by  the  perfection 
of  her  beauty,  and  I  often  reflected,  as  I  looked  upon  her, 
what  joy  would  be  yours  in  such  a  wife.  She  was  de- 
voted to  you,  and  I  was  astonished  that,  having  seen  you 
so  little  in  the  last  four  years,  she  should  cherish  such 
romantic  attachment.  Surrounded  by  many  admirers, 
who  would  have  eagerly  linked  their  fortune  to  hers,  she 
seemed  above  all  the  weaknesses  incident  to  pretty  wo- 
men, and  was  as  true  to  you  as  if  already  your  wife.  She 
went  with  her  mother  and  Mariana,  under  the  charge  of 
Percival,  to  the  seaside,  radiant  and  happy,  and  a  month 
afterwards  she  returned  in  sorrow  so  profound  and  mys- 
terious, we  are  yet  wholly  unsatisfied  as  to  its  origin.  I 
am  assured  by  her  mother  and  Mariana  that  it  grew  out 
of  no  unhappy  attachment  contracted  there.  She  steadily 
refused  to  account  for  the  depression  destroying  her  life, 
until  her  mother  discovered,  from  language  uttered  in 
her  sleep,  her  belief  that  you  were  forgetful  of  her,  in  the 
love  of  another.  Percival  says  there  was  a  long  conver- 
sation between  herself  and  Frederick  Compton,  on  the 
evening  she  first  exhibited  symptoms  of  melancholy,  and  I 
have  since  learned  that,  on  one  occasion,  when  his  father 
was  intoxicated,  at  St.  Kilda,  he  declared  to  some  gentle- 
men that  he  was  satisfied  you  were  about  to  be  married 
to  the  German  countess  of  whom  you  have  so  often  spok- 
en.    Although  I   know  the  falsehood  of  this  story,  I  am 


460  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

satisfied  young  Compton  has  used  it  to  destroy  the  hap- 
piness, if  not  the  reason,  of  our  beautiful  Rosamond.  We 
know  you  too  well  to  think  you  could  so  far  forget  your 
plighted  honor  in  this  way. 

"  Percival,  at  the  request  of  Rosamond  and  her  mother, 
has  accompanied  them  to  Europe,  where,  I  hope,  travel 
and  change  of  scene  will  remove  this  corroding  grief 
from  the  heart  of  the  voung  sufferer.     As  soon   as  thi 


& 


us 


letter  reaches  you,  I  desire  you  to  find  them,  and  remove 
this  impression  from  the  mind  of  this  dear  girl,  whose 
unusual  devotion  to  yourself  has  occasioned  her  distress. 
If  I  believed  you  capable  of  deserting  her  for  any  other 
woman,  I  should  be  shamed  in  all  my  nature,  that  my 
grandson,  in  whom  I  have  rested  the  hopes  of  my 
childless  age,  was  so  lost  to  his  own  honor  as  to  think  of 
such  a  thing  as  these  false  and  malicious  men  have  as- 
cribed to  you.  Were  you  capable  of  such  a  thing,  it 
would  dishonor  our  name,  and  bring  my  own  gray  hairs 
in  sorrow  to  the  grave.  Forgive  my  warmth  on  this  hor- 
rible and  impossible  subject.  I  am  not,  dear  Philip,  for 
a  moment  shaken  in  my  trust  of  your  good  sense  and 
claims  to  the  name  of  gentleman.  In  all  my  long  ex- 
perience, you  have  been  so  far  the  most  faultless  youth  I 
have  known,  and  I  am  confident  you  will  continue  in 
this  career  of  truth  and  self-respect.  In  that  trust  I  com- 
mit you  to  the  keeping  of  God  ;  praying  him  to  bless 
you,  and  while  life  lasts. 

Your  grandfather, 

Philip  Eustace,  Sr." 
It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  the  feeling  of  thorough 
humiliation  Philip  experienced  in  reading  this  letter.  He 
felt  that  he  was  not  only  amenable  to  the  censures  of  his 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  461 

grandfather,  but  the  energy  and  good  sense  of  the  epistle 
recalled  his  own  faculties  which  had  been  eclipsed  and 
benumbed  of  their  former  vigor  by  passion  and  sickness. 
He  considered  himself  the  slave  of  an  ignoble  thraldom, 
and  remembered  with  shame  that  when  he  was  two  years 
younger  he  had  resisted  all  the  fascinations  of  Theresa  of 
Schulemberg.  Now  to  fall  a  helpless  slave  into  a  roman- 
tic attachment  for  one  of  whose  parentage  he  was  igno- 
rant, profoundly  humbled  him.  He  was  dismayed  at  the 
prospect  of  his  return  to  Ellesmere ;  for  how  could  he  face 
his  grandfather  with  a  knowledge  of  such  weakness  in 
himself? 

Then,  too,  the  fair  brow  of  Rosamond,  which  he  had 
dimly  seen  that  night  when  they  had  ratified  the  vows 
of  their  childhood,  stole  up  in  his  memory.  He  thought 
of  all  the  suffering  the  sensitive  and  imaginative  girl  had 
undergone  on  his  account,  and  now  its  first  intelligence 
reaches  him  in  the  midst  of  a  passion  to  which  his  love 
for  the  German  countess  was  only  child's  play.  He  was 
stung  to  the  heart,  and  horrified  to  think  his  position 
would  soon  become  known  to  the  world,  thus  exposing 
him  to  the  contempt  of  all  good  men.  He  felt  the  throb 
of  a  wound  deeper  than  that  lately  inflicted  by  the  assas: 
sin,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  wished  his  existence 
ended. 

He  went  out  into  the  soft  Italian  air  and  mingled  with 
the  throng  on  the  Corso ;  soon  wearying  of  that,  he  passed 
on  amid  the  mouldering  old  city  now  less  mournful  in  its 
aspect  than  his  own  face.  The  glances  of  men  who  per- 
ceived his  trouble  only  increased  his  uneasiness,  and  he 
paused  not  until  he  reached  the  bridge  of  St.  Angelo. 
The  yellow  water  of  the  Tiber  went  on  its  course  to  the 


462  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

sea,  disregarding  his  sorrow  as  it  had  that  of  countless 
other  men  who,  in  the  ages  since  Romulus,  had  lived  and 
come  to  grief  in  the  great  city.  As  he  stood  pensively 
gazing  into  the  water,  heartily  wishing  himself  asleep 
beneath  its  waves,  one  of  Goethe's  songs  stole  up  to  his 
remembrance: 

"Heart,  my  heart,  0  what  hath  changed  thee? 

What  doth  weigh  on  thee  so  sore? 
What  hath  from  myself  estranged  thee, 

That  I  scarcely  know  thee  more? 
Gone  is  all  which  once  seemed  dearest, 
Gone  the  care  which  once  was  nearest, 

Gone  thy  toils  and  tranquil  bliss, 

Ah  !  how  couldst  thou  come  to  this?" 

He  looked  around  upon  the  relics  of  the  past,  and  return- 
ing passed  by  the  Fountain  of  Trevi.  In  the  midst  of  a 
ruined  temple  of  the  far-off  heathen  age  he  sat  on  a  fallen 
column,  which,  in  its  massive  and  enduring  strength, 
seemed  almost  as  intact  as  when  fresh  from  the  hands  of 
those  cunning  artisans  who  had  been  resting  from  their 
labors  so  long.  Philip,  in  the  presence  of  this  voiceless 
and  neglected  representative  of  a  forgotten  splendor,  felt 
rebuked  that  he,  who  was  the  architect  of  his  own  trouble, 
should  thus,  like  a  child,  shrink  from  what  he  had 
brought  upon  himself;  so,  with  the  hour  of  sunset,  he 
returned  to  his  lodgings  in  a  calmer  state  of  mind,  but 
fully  resolved  that  the  morrow  should  witness  his  depar- 
ture from  Rome.  He  was  busy  in  his  preparations  when 
Loundes  and  Jagerndorf  came  in  from  a  stroll.  Noticing 
the  gravity  of  Philip's  countenance,  Ludwig  asked  : 
"What  are  you  doing  with  your  trunks?" 
"Preparing  to  take  leave  of  you,  Ludwig.  I  have  this 
evening  received  a  letter  from  home  which  makes  me 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  463 

ashamed  of  loitering  longer  here,  so  I  shall  bid  you  adieu 
to-morrow." 

He  made  no  further  explanations,  and  the  artist  was 
grieved  to  see  the  determination  first  announced  adhered 
to  as  Philip  and  his  servant  continued  to  pack  the  trunks. 
Ludwig  sorrowfully  took  his  leave  to  prepare  the  pictures 
belonging  to  his  friend  for  his  departure. 

"  Philip,"  said  Loundes,  "we  have  promised  to  meet 
our  friends  in  the  Coliseum  to-night.  Have  you  forgot- 
ten our  agreement?" 

"  No.  I  shall  be  ready  in  time,  but  you  are  not  pre- 
paring to  start  in  the  morning.  Are  you  unwilling  to  go 
then  ?" 

"  Not  if  you  are  still  intent  upon  it  when  we  return 
to-night." 

Philip  was  galled  at  this  last  remark,  considering  it  a 
reflection  on  the  thraldom  of  which  he  was  now  heartily 
ashamed.  He  made  no  reply,  for  he  felt  that  his  friend 
was  reasonable  in  this  lowered  estimation  in  which  he 
was  held.  Sorrow  and  shame  but  no  resentment  throbbed 
in  his  heart  as  he  silently  continued  his  labors.  When 
these  were  finished,  they  went  on  their  way  to  the  vast 
amphitheatre  to  which,  in  the  morning,  Philip  was  ex- 
pecting to  go  as  light-hearted  as  any  man  among  the 
multitudes  formerly  there  celebrating  their  bloody  satur- 
nalia. As  he  walked  silently  by  the  side  of  his  friend,  in 
his  heart  was  a  gloom,  deep  as  ever  clouded  the  brow  or 
dimmed  the  eyes  of  doomed  gladiator  repairing  thither  to 
amuse  a  remorseless  populace  with  the  sight  of  his  dying 
agouies. 

The  moonlight  fell  gloriously  on  all  objects,  hallowing, 
with   silvery  radiance,  hundreds  around  which   cluster 


464  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

a  world  of  memories.  In  its  soothing  influence  Philip's 
burdened  heart  recurred  with  anguish  to  the  thought 
that,  on  this  night,  he  should  look  on  the  beauty  of  Ve- 
netia  for  the  last  time.  As  they  approached  the  colossal 
ruin,  in  whose  vast  area  huge  armies  could  be  seated,  the 
tender  mournfulness  of  Byron's  description  recurred  to  a 
mind  then  filled  with  darker  despair  than  ever  haunted 
the  mind  of  the  noble  poet : 

"  The  trees  which  grew  along  the  broken  arches 
Waved  dark  in  the  blue  midnight,  from  afar 
The  watch-dog  bay*d  beyond  the  Tiber ;  and 
More  near  from  out  the  Cnesar's  palace  came 
The  owl*s  long  cry,  and  interruptedly, 
Of  distant  sentinels  the  fitful  song 
Begun  and  died  Upon  the  gentle  wind." 

As  they  entered  the  shadow  of  the  great  walls,  they 
heard  the  voice  of  Venetia,  singing  an  English  ballad, 
and  Philip  knew  from  the  sadness  of  the  song  she  was 
hurt  at  his  delay  in  coming.  Carriages,  at  the  entrance, 
showed  that  they  wrere  not  to  expect  silence  in  contem- 
plating a  scene  so  full  of  majestic  stillness,  and  sounds  of 
laughter  from  the  enclosure  itself,  in  his  present  mood, 
jarred  on  his  ears.  The  arches  rose  tier  over  tier  between 
him  and  the  moon,  and  he  tried  to  realize  the  wondrous 
beauty  it  had  inspired  in  other  imaginations;  but  there 
wras  either  too  much  light  or,  possibly,  his  heart  was  un- 
strung to  the  enjoyment  of  anything.  Here,  in  the 
world's  greatest  charnel-house  the  nations  once  sent  to 
their  conquerors,  wild  beasts,  strong-limbed  gladiators, 
and  unresisting  christians,  that  imperial  Rome  might  see 
them  die  on  this  very  area.  From  the  central  point, 
where  the  earth   had  received   such  seas  of  blood,  now 


y    Light  in  the  Coliseum.  465 

arose  the  tall,  black  cross  emblematic  of  a  faith  once  so 
persecuted  there. 

After  some  pleasant  raillery  on  their  late  arrival,  the 
party,  which  the  Americans  had  joined,  settled  themselves 
amid  fallen  columns,  and  chatted  on,  merrily  as  people 
should,  who  visit  places  so  long  dedicated  to  amusement. 
At  Philip's  request  Venetia  accompanied  him  around  the 
shrines,  for  what  he  felt  to  be  his  last  conference  with 
her. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come,"  said  she.  "  I  feared 
you  wrere  ill,  and  I  should  not  see  you  to-night?' 

"I  have  been  very  busy  this  evening,"  said  he,  "  in 
the  most  sorrowful  labor  of  my  life.  I  have  been  prepar- 
ing to  take  leave  of  you  and  Rome  in  the  morning." 

"  Why  this  haste,  dear  Philip,  have  you  ceased  to  love 
me?" 

"Alas  no!  I  love  you  better  than  my  own  life,  which 
I  have  been  half  tempted,  this  evening,  to  throw  away  in 
the  Tiber." 

"  Oh  !  Philip,  you  are  not  talking  like  yourself.  How 
can  you,  who  have  sustained  me  in  my  great  trouble,  and 
whose  noble  trust  in  God  restored  m^  soul  to  joy,  thus 
madly  contemplate  the  most  unreasonable  and  sinful  of 
all  human  transgressions?" 

"  Venetia,  I  am  in  a  cloud  so  black  I  have  no  hope  for 
the  future.  In  my  love  for  you  I  have  lost  my  self  rever- 
ence, and,  Oh  ■!  God,  that  I  should  say  it,  I  know  not  how 
to  meet  the  face  of  my  grandfather." 

The  strong  man  paused,  shaken  with  a  mighty  convul- 
sion, and  Venetia  realized  his  torture. 

"  Oh  !  Philip,  my  life,  my  dearest  of  all  hopes,  tell  me 
this  trouble,  and  I  will  be  willing  to  die,  if  I  do  not  make 
30 


466  TU  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

it  all  clear.  You  shall  see  your  grandfather  as  proudly 
as  you  ever  met  him  if  you  will  only  trust  me.  Remem- 
ber the  abyss  from  which  you  have  lifted  me,  and  let  me 
know  all  this  grief." 

"  It  is  too  late,  Venetia.  The  day  of  hope  has  passed 
forever  from  my  reach,  and  life,  once  full  of  promise,  has 
become  an  utter  wreck.  I  am  stranded  on  a  barren 
shore  from  which  there  is  but  one  escape,  and  in  that,  I 
agree  with  you,  is  such  sin  I  dare  not  think  of  it.  Let 
us  go  to  the  cross  in  the  centre  of  the  arena  and  I  will 
tell  you  all." 

They  went  to  the  spot  indicated,  and  seated  themselves. 
The  moonlight  was  streaming  full  upon  Venetia,  and 
Philip  gazed  sorrowfully  into  eyes  in  whose  tender  love- 
liness a  worse  man  would  have  felt  half-absolved  from 
the  most  atrocious  blood-guiltiness. 

"  Venetia,"  said  he,  "you  are  all  the  more  beautiful 
now  that  I  feel  we  are  talking  together  for  the  last 
time." 

"Your  beauty  is  your  beanty,  and  I  srn 
In  speaking,  yet  oli  grant  ray  worship  of  ft 
Words,  as  we  grant  grief  tears." 

"  1  wish  I  had  died  when  that  unknown  wretch  wounded 
me.  I  should  have  left  the  world  in  all  my  integrity ; 
but  now,  to  my  shame  and  grief,  I  have  the  knowledge 
that  what  I  must  say  to  you  will  seem  reproachful." 

"  I  promise  you,  Philip,  I  will  not  feel  hurt  at  anything, 
you  say.  I  have  much  to  urge  in  extenuation  of  my 
conduct,  and  you  shall  have  my  story  when  you  have 
finished." 

"  I  am  th«  only  male  heir,"  said  Philip,  "  of  a  family  of 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  467 

large  wealth,  and  my  grandfather,  who  reared  me, 
has  lavished  upon  me,  since  my  earliest  recollection,  a 
love  so  tender  and  such  wise  counsel  I  have  been  favored 
with  all  the  benefits  my  heart  could  desire.  I  have  a 
dear  cousin,  named  Rosamond  Courtenay,  and  our  friends 
have  told  us  from  early  childhood  we  should  some  day 
be  married.  I  have  ever  loved  her,  and  when  we  were 
little  children  we  exchanged  vows  afterward  ratified  on 
the  eve  of  my  departure  for  Europe.  I  left  my  native 
country,  having  gone  to  Germany,  and  was  there  but  a 
short  time  when  by  chance  I  rescued  a  young  countess 
from  probable  death.  There  amid  strangers  in  a  foreign 
land  she  gave  me  such  kindness  and  love  I  should  be 
brutal  to  forget  it.  I  loved  her  for  the  nobleness  of  her 
heart;  but  we  parted  only  as  friends.  I  told  her  the 
story  of  my  love  for  Rosamond,  and  kept  my  honor  as  a 
gentleman,  with  no  regrets  to  poison  my  future  happiness 
I  went  forth  into  the  world  on  my  travels,  and  after 
wandering  in  different  climes  I  came  here,  and  by  acci- 
dent saw  you  in  the  Pantheon.  I  was  at  once  irresistibly 
attracted,  and  soon  resolved  to  fly  from  a  presence  that 
promised  to  unfit  me  for  the  love  of  my  cousin.  The 
desire  to  see  you  again  that  evening  detained  me  at  the 
church  near  which  I  was  wounded,  and  through  your 
dear  guardianship  robbed  of  my  manhood.  I  had  hith- 
erto maintained  the  silence  duty  suggested,  but  in  my 
weakness  you  learned  all  the  secret  of  my  love.  I  have 
been  unable  to  recover  from  the  glamour  your  beauty 
and  goodness  has  thrown  around  me  until  this  day. 
A  letter  which  I  received  from  my  grandfather  has 
recalled  my  faculties  to  a  proper  appreciation  of  my 
course.      Some  one    has   convinced  Rosamond   that    I 


468  The  Hem  of  St.  Kitdd. 

love  the  countess  of  Schulemberg,  and  the  belief  has 
crushed  the  heart  of  my  dear  cousin.  She  is  in  Europe 
with  her  friends,  seeking  to  regain  her  former  peace. 
My  grandfather  has  written  me  to  go  at  once  in  search  of 
her  and  refute  the  slander  which  has  caused  her  grief. 
But,  Venetia,  how  can  I  approach  her  pure  presence  with 
a  lie  on  my  lips.  I  was  never  other  than  the  friend  of 
Theresa  of  Schulemberg,  but  you  are  dearer  to  me  than 
my  existence ;  and  thus,  when  called  upon  to  save  myself 
from  dishonor  by  denying  one  imputed  breach  of  my 
plighted  word,  I  am  self-convicted  of  yielding  to  my  love 
for  you.  Oh  !  Venetia,  to  what  straits  has  your  beauty 
brought  me,  and  what  shall  I  say  to  my  dear  sorrowing 
«cousin  to  raise  her  drooping  head?  My  grandfather  de^ 
■claree  if  he  thought  me  capable  of  deserting  her,  and 
.thus  dishonoring  my  name,  it  would  bring  his  gray  hairs 
with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

"My  stay  in  Rome,"  continued  Philip,  "  has  almost 
.realized  the  old  Greek  idea  of  destiny ;  for  while  I  have 
struggled  to  do  what  I  felt  was  my  duty,  accident  and  ir- 
repressible heart  proclivities  have  overruled  and  baffled 
;me.  I  told  Mr.  Hastings  of  my  engagement,  that  he 
might  know  my  duty  and  help  me  perform  it.  How 
have  you  aided  me  in  this  matter,  Venetia  ?  Your  adopt- 
ed father  must  have  told  you  my  situation  ;  why  then  did 
you  not  drive  me  from  your  presence  when  you  saw  the 
fatal  infatuation  which  was  stealing  my  reason  and  honor? 
What  hope  have  you  left  me  in  the  world,  and  how  can  I 
become  the  husband  of  my  cousin,  having  left  my  heart 
^with  you  in  Rome?  How  can  I  meet  the  wisdom  and 
innocence  of  those  at  home?  Venetia  Hastings,  I  call 
iheaven  to  witness,  with  all  my  .love  for  you,  I  would  a 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  469 

hundred  deaths  had  come  ere  I  saw  your  fatal  beauty. 
You  have  made  me  happy  in  disregard  of  my  duty,  and 
•destroyed  my  self-respect  as  a  man.  I  doubt  not  you  have 
been  kind  in  intention,  but  you  new  know  the  ruin  you 
have  wrought.  I  know  not  how  to  say  farewell,  but  I 
leave  you  forever  this  night,  and  may  a  diviner  pity  than 
I  shall  find  bless  you  through  life.  If  it  were  right,  I 
eould  lie  down  at  your  feet,  in  this  blood-stained  arena, 
and  be  happy  forever;  but  I  must  sin  in  this  love  no 
longer.  I  shall  start  in  the  morning  to  look  for  Rosa- 
mond to  tell  her  all." 

"Where  will  you  find  Rosamond,  Philip?"  said  she, 
detaining  him  as  he  arose  to  leave.  "My  heart's  dear 
love,  I  am  your  Rosamond;"  and  with  a  flood  of  happy 
tears  the  beautiful  maiden,  no  longer  Venetia  Hastings, 
but  the  peerless  heiress  of  Thorndale,  wept  upon  his 
bosom.  All  disguises  were  now  ended,  and  the  burden 
lifted  from  Philip's  heart.  As  she  looked  in  the  dark 
eyes  so  tenderly  regarding  her,  she  felt  astonished  that 
there  should  have  ever  floated  a  cloud  of  doubt  into  her 
atmosphere  of  love,  now  seemingly  as  clear  as  the  star- 
gemmed  Italian  heavens.  Over  the  mute  and  bloody 
arena  in  the  shadow  of  the  black  cross,  sat  the  lovers. 
From  this  same  spot,  in  ages  long  ago  dead  and  lost  in 
the  eternity  that  lies  behind  us,  what  voiceless  agonies 
had  arisen  toward  the  sources  of  infinite  pity  I  Here  the 
gladiator  had  felt  his  eyes  swim  in  death,  and  heard  the 
shouts  of  brutal  applause  grow  faint  in  the  throes  of  dis- 
solution. Up  into  those  same  quiet  heavens  had  gone 
the  last  faith-illumined  glance  of  unresisting  and  yet  tri- 
umphant martyrs.  Here,  in  the  hidden  mystery  of  Him 
whose  eyes  had  seen  all  this  holocaust  of  woe,  were  these 


470  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kida. 

two  beings  in  the  fullness  of  their  youth,  basking  in  the 
joy  born  of  the  most  tender  and  innocent  of  all  human 
emotions.  The  two  were  for  some  time  silent,  for 
Philip  was  too  happy  to  heed  the  voices  of  visitors  around 
them.  Rosamond  had  promised  to  explain  the  mystery 
he  was  so  anxious  to  unravel. 

"Our  good  friend,  Mr.  Loundes,"  said  she,  "has  told 
me  that  the  Countess  of  Schulemberg  sometimes  called 
you  Don  Giovanni.  You  need  not  wonder  then  that  my 
affections,  when  almost  a  child,  should  have  clung  so 
closely  to  you.  I  have  been  in  dream-land  a  large  por- 
tion of  ray  life,  and  all  my  fancies  have  taken  you  and 
your  plighted  love  as  their  source  of  happiness.  Instead 
of  the  wild  old  romances  I  was  so  fond  of  rehearsing  to 
you  and  Mariana,  my  visions  early  rested  upon  you,  and 
my  joy  in  you  when  I  should  come  to  live  in  your  smiles. 
In  those  days  I  was  pained  whenever  I  approached  a 
mirror,  and  thought  surely  Philip  cannot  love  me  as  I 
would  have  him,  unless  I  grow  more  winsome.  I  prayed 
heaven  to  send  me  beauty  for  your  sake,  and  as  the  years 
went  by  in  which  I  could  only  see  you  in  my  dreams,  I 
watched  the  changes  in  my  appearance,  and  saw  with  a 
great  joy  God  was  answering  my  prayer.  My  own  eyes 
and  the  words  of  those  who  loved  me  too  dearly  for  flat- 
tery, assured  me  I  was  no  longer  plain.  I  felt  confident 
that  when  you  saw  me,  and  knew  how  dearly  I  loved  you, 
there  would  be  no  regret  for  the  vows  we  had  so  often  ex- 
changed. 

"  Dear  Philip,"  continued  Rosamond,  "  God  has  pun- 
isned  me  for  this  vain  confidence.  I  became  convinced, 
in  a  way  I  am.  not  at  liberty  to  explain,  that  you  repented 
of  our  engagement,  and  had  given  your  heart  to  the 


LigM  in  the  Coliseum.  471 

•Countess  of  Schulemberg.  I  was  too  weak  and  faint- 
hearted to  see  through  the  falsehood,  and  the  conviction 
that  you  had  ceased  to  love  me  shattered  my  hopes.  I 
was  so  sinful  I  longed  and  prayed  for  death.  Knowing 
your  high  sense  of  honor,  and  fearing  you  would  carry 
out  our  engagement,  even  though  you  loved  another,  I 
felt  the  possibility  of  my  becoming  a  burden  on  your  life. 
I  was  fast  going  to  the  grave  I  so  earnestly  desired,  when 
mother  learned  the  secret  of  my  grief.  I  did  not  break 
my  promise  to  say  nothing  of  what  had  been  told  me, 
but  I  was  so  heavy-laden  in  my  sorrow,  I  talked  of  you 
in  my  dreams. 

"  Through  her  came  a  g?eam  of  hopeful  distrust  of  the 
statements  which  had  been  weighing  upon  me  as  a  fear- 
ful certainty.  I  determined  I  would  come  to  Europe  and 
see  you  under  another  name,  and  if  possible  win  your 
love.  It  occurred  to  me  you  might  not  be  loving  an- 
other, and  still,  in  your  dutiful  regard  for  the  wishes  of 
the  family,  be  willing  to  fulfill  our  engagement.  I  was 
determined  to  become  your  bride  on  no  such  grounds. 
You  must  love  me  for  myself  and  no  other  reason.  Oh ! 
Philip,  I  am  so  thankful  I  came  to  this  determination.  I 
am  now  fully  assured  of  your  disposition  toward  me.  I 
came  to  Rome,  for  I  knew  you  had  not  been  here,  and 
you  had  written  me  you  would  be  certain  to  do  so.  Mr. 
Hastings  had  been  a  dear  friend  of  mine  in  America,  so  I 
told  him  all  my  story  and  plans,  and  he  eagerly  seconded 
them.  He  adopted  me  as  his  daughter,  and  I  had  been 
here  but  two  weeks  when  we  went  to  look  at  the  Pan- 
theon. I  did  not  perceive  you  at  first,  and  was  silently 
praying  for  our  meeting,  when  I  felt  a  strong  convietion 
of  your  presence,  and,,  looking  around,  saw  you.     Ola 


472  The  Hews  of  St.  Km*. 

the  joy  of  that  moment!  I  felt  that  heaven  had  answer- 
ed my  prayer;  but,  from  the  eagerness  of  your  glance, 
fearing  you  had  some  suspicion  of  my  identity,  I  looked 
coldly  upon  you  to  destroy  this  impression.  I  saw,  at  the 
embassy,  that  you  did  not  recognize  me,  and  regarded 
this  second  meeting  by  accident  as  ominous  of  joy. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  now,  dear  Philip,  that  much  of 
Mr.  Hastings*  kindness  and  my  own  conduct,  which  must 
have  see-med  strange  to.  you  at  times,  has  been  prompted 
by  my  desire  to  obtain  a  full  confession  of  the  love  I 
sometimes  saw  in  your  manner,  but  which  you  so  reso- 
lutely forbore  to  speak.  I  was  in  despair  at  your  going 
away,  for  I  had  really  ascertained  nothing  but  what  you 
had  told  Mr.  Hastings;  so  when  in  your  delirium  you; 
spoke  of  a  double  affection  mysteriously  divided  between 
Yenetia  and  Rosamond  I  was  made  happy  in  full  assur- 
ance. I  desired  the  surgeon  to  let  me  tell  you  all,  but 
he  said  it  might  destroy  your  life  in  the  excitement  it 
would  create.  I  was  afraid  your  friends  would  think  me- 
indelicate  in  my  claims  to  watch  over  you  when  another 
was  in  possession  of  your  troth  ;  so,  on  the  promise  of 
keeping  my  secret,  I  told  them  I  was  Rosamond  Courte- 
nay.  Since  your  recovery  I  have  been  eagerly  waiting 
for  an  opportunity,  but  your  silence  concerning  Rosamond 
has  puzzled  me  to  tell  you.  I  was  a  little  hurt,  dear 
Philip,  for  fear  you  had  almost  forgotten  the  little  girl 
who  so  loved  you  in  your  regard  for  Venetia.  You  have 
now  shown  me  your  truth  and  nobility,  and  I  thank 
heaven  for  all  we  have  suffered — it  has  only  strengthened 
our  love." 

"•How  long*"  said  Philip,  "  would  you  have  left  me  in 


Light  in  the  Coliseum.  473 

this  cruel  uncertainty  had  I  not  determined  to  leave 
you  ?" 

"  This  very  meeting  was  planned  by  myself  that  I 
might  here  tell  you  all.  To  this  end  I  have  written  to 
my  mother  anc]  cousin  Percival,  who  have  been  staying 
with  Count  Orsini  at  Lake  Como.  They  reached  the  city 
this  evening  and  are  here." 

They  crossed  the  arena  to  one  of  the  shrines  where  they 
found  Percival  St.  George  and  Mrs.  Ccurtenay.  When 
the  greetings  were  over  the  master  of  Vaucluse  remarked, 

"  Philip  I  must  congratulate  you  on  this  scenic  denoue- 
ment of  the  prettiest  melodrama  in  actual  life  I  have  ever 
had  the  good  fortune  to  observe.  You  and  Rosamond 
have  kept  me  holding  my  breath  for  months  past.'* 

"Well  Philip,"  said  Charles  Loundes, 

"Can  these  things  be. 
And  overcome  us  like  a  summers  cloud, 
Without  our  special  wonder?" 

"  What  say  you  now ;  shall  we  leave  Rome  in  the 
morning?" 

"  No,"  said  Philip,  "  I  have  found  the  fair  Rosamond 
for  whom  I  was  to  search.  Charley  I  owe  you  something 
for  the  pains  you  have  taken  to  keep  me  in  the  dark,  and 
I  will  get  Mariana  to  pay  off  ray  debt  when  we  reach 
Ellesmere." 

"  Cousin  Venetia,"  said  Percival,  "  we  are  all  too  happy 
to  think  of  retiring  sooner  than  the  moon.  I  brought 
your  harp  in  the  carriage,  and  you  must  help  us  to  cele- 
brate your  happiness  to-night.  Though  we  are  not  at 
the  capitol,  and  have  no  bays  ready  for  your  coronation^ 


474  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

we  can  easily  imagine  you  another  Corinne  if  you  will 
sing  us  that  pretty  fantasy  addressed  to  Philip." 

Rosamond  stood  by  the  instrument,  in  the  full  glow  of 
the  moonlight,  and  in  her  flowing  draperies  seemed  some 
noble  priestess  of  extinct  creeds  reverenced  in  past  ages. 
She  looked  up  to  the  great  arches  high  above  her,  and 
in  a  voice  so  full  and  rich  all  merriment  was  hushed  into 
silence,  sang  this 

MIDNIGHT   FANTASY. 

"The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming'" 

On  sleeping  land  and  sea, 
With  all  their  bright  rays  teeming 

With  joy  for  you  and  me. 
Oh  love  !  they  seem,  with  each  sweet  beam, 

To  kiss  the  happy  sea; 
Their  loving  eyes  look  from  the  skies 

Of    deep  infinity. 

*'The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming:'1 

Dear  one  I  wake  for  thee ;  * 
Thou  art  .iear  when  I  am  dreaming 

With  thought  and  fancy  free. 
From  this  sweet  home,  to  thee  they  roam, 

Oh  bear  me  gentle  river 
Unto  his  side — 1  am  his  bride 

Forever  and  forever. 

u  The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming  " 

Upon  the  distant  lake ; 
The  swan  has  hushed  her  sereaming 

Until  the  birds  shall  wake ; 
The  shadows  deep  now  softly  sleep 

Upon  the   moveless  tide ; 
Its  crystal  waves  in  stilly  caves, 

The  sportive  Naiads  hide. 

"The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming'1 

Amid  the  bowery  glade  ; 
A  nightingale  is  seeming 

From  Paradise  estrayeel ; 
How  wild  and  free  her  melody, 

Oh  love  !  this  summer  night 
Would  that  ray  lay  could  bear  to  thee 

Such  story  of  delight. 


Light  in   the  Coliseum.  475 


"The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming:" 

No  sorrow  of  the  day 
Comes  to  me  softly  dreaming 

Of  my  lover  far  away. 
O'er  hazy  lea,  and  languid  sea 

From  shilling  realms  above 
With  softer  gleam,  upon  such  dream, 

Look  down  O  scar  of  love  ! 

"  The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming," 

In  the  castle's  ruined  hall 
The  moon  beams  soft  are  streaming, 

Splendor  through  the  creviced  wall 
The  long  light  breaks,  in  snowy  flakes, 

Upon  the  marble  stair ; 
While  starbeams  sweet,  with  silent  feet 

Are  swiftly  dancing  th'-re, 

"  The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming" 

'Long  battlements  on  high 
Where  banners  once  were  streaming, 

And  shrilled  the  battle-cry ; 
In  ceaseless  glee,  could  we  but  see 

The  fairy  armies  go 
Above  the  moat,  they  gayly  float 

To  music  soft  and  low. 

"The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming," 

They  glow  with  softer  light, 
The  sad  moon  too  is  seeming 

To  faint  witli  fleeing  Ni^rht, 
To  me  they  seem,  some  fading  dream, 

As  golden  morn  comes  on, 
The  breezes  wake,  upon  the  lake  : 

Another  day  is  born. 

"The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming" 

Oli  Love  within  thine  eyes  ; 
I  know  a  light  is  beaming, 

Whose  death  my  soul  denies. 
It  e'er  shall  glow,  as  round  us  flow 

The  full,  joy-brimming  years ; 
I  trust  in  thee,  and  Him  we  see 

Alike  through  smiles  and  tears. 

"  The  stars  of  heaven  are  gleaming," 

The  dew-washed  willows  weep 
jNIists  from  each  gorge  are  streaming 

Where  babbling  runlets  creep 
Oh  !  look,  oh  !  see  how  splendidly 

Flames  all  the  orient  sky. 
As  star  by  star  in  realms  afar 

Fade  slowly  all,  and  die. 


476  Vie  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

The  moon  hung  ver}7  low  on  the  horizon  before  the 
party  left  the  Coliseum.  Philip  had  gone  there  with  a 
heavy  heart,  but  left  it  serene  and  contented  as  any  of  all 
the  countless  hosts  entering  and  departing  in  the  last 
eighteen  centuries.  As  he  rode  away  in  the  carriage  by 
Rosamond's  side,  his  glance  lingered  upon  the  vast  arches 
now  more  beautiful  in  the  softened  light  of  the  sinking 
moon,    Earth  had  no  promise  of  greater  joy, 


The  Wedding  Bells.  477 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   WEDDING   BELLS. 

"That  their  exceeding  mirth  may  not  be  told: 
Suffice  it  here  by  signs  to  understand 
The  usual  joys  at  knitting  of  love's  bandi 
Thrice  happy  man  the  knight  himself  did  hold, 
Possessed  of  his  lady's  heart  and  hand; 
And  ever,  when  his  eye  did  her  behold, 
His  heart  did  seem  to  melt  in  pleasures  manifold." 

^The  Faery  Queen, 

Ellesmere,  in  all  its  long  history  of  alternate  joy  and 
grief,  bad  never  witnessed  an  occasion  of  such  unalloyed 
satisfaction  as  had  been  visible  throughout  the  day  in 
every  face  belonging  to  the  large  establishment.  Tbe 
gloom  which  had  come  upon  the  stately  homestead  after 
its  double  loss  by  death  and  the  departure  of  the  family 
had  disappeared  on  the  return  of  the  wanderers.  On  the  - 
previous  evening  the  rooms  at  Thorndale  cottage  were 
filled  with  friends  to  witness  the  bridals  of  Philip  Eustace 
and  Rosamond  Courtenay,  and  there  was  momentary  ex- 
pectation of  the  arrival  of  the  wedding*  party.  It  was  a 
general  holiday  among  all  the  negroes  of  the  family,  and 
they  were  showing  by  their  uproarious  hilarity  how 
much  they  sympathized  with  this  return  of  joy  to  the 
"  white  folks  in  the  great  house." 

They  had  come  by  hundreds,  not  only  from  Grafton 
and  Blenheim,  but  Thorndale,  Vaucluse  and  Ramillies 
were  nearly  deserted,  to  allow  them  an  opportunity  of 
participating  in  the  feast  of  barbecued  pigs  and  roasted 
oxen.  Fiddles  and  banjos  were  freshly  strung  for  the 
night's   revel,   and   on  every   side   were   indications   of 


478  The  Heirs  of  Si  Kilda. 

boundless  satisfaction  among  the  joyous  slaves.  Thomp- 
son still  maintained  his  authority  with  no  perceptible 
dimunition  of  his  huge  stature.  In  so  large  a  gathering, 
where  many  were  consulting  him  as  the  oracle  in  whose 
response  all  their  ignorance  could  be  enlightened,  he  as- 
sumed an  importance  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  with 
unfailing  good  humor  answered  a  thousand  questions. 

"Unk.  Thomson,"  said  one,  "how  long 'fore  all  dem 
folks  down  at  Thorndale  gwine  to  git  here?" 

"  Well,  Tony,  to  de  best  o'  my  information  it  will  be 
'twix  sunset  and  dark." 

"  I've  hearn  say,"  said  another,  "  ole  master  has  done 
and  gin  up  everything  to  Mass  Phil ;  and  all  us  niggers 
down  at  Grafton  belongs  to  him  now." 

"That's  true  as  gospel,  Luke,"  said  Thompson,  "  ole 
master  tole  me  no  longer  dan  las'  week  dat  he  and  Miss 
Henretta  Courtenay  was  gwine  to  make  over  everything 
to  Mass  Phil." 

"  Mass  Percy  tole  us,"  said  one  from  Vaucluse,  "  dat  he 
wanted  everybody  Mr.  Earl  could  spare  from  tendin'  to 
de  horses  an'  mules  to  come  here  to  Mas.  Phil's  weddin'. 
He  said  if  nothin'  happened  Mass  Phil  was  some  o'  dese 
days  boun'  to  be  de  master  o'  Vaucluse  an'  we  colored 
folks  over  dare." 

Judge  Eustace  was  opposed  to  any  bridal  tour  on  the 
part  of  the  newrly-wedded  pair.  He  thought  they  had 
travelled  enough,  and  they  fully  agreed  with  him.  This 
was  the  second  night  of  a  series  of  dinner  parties  and 
evening  entertainments  in  honor  of  the  young  people  in 
whose  joy  so  many  participated.  Even  Percival  St. 
George  determined  to  disturb  the  solitude  of  his  house 
with  the  merriment  of  this  festive  occasion.     Mr.  Somer- 


The  Wedding  Bells.  479 

ville  and  Col.  Ridgely  had  also  issued  invitations,  and 
with  all  these  merry-makings  St.  Kilda  valley  was  half 
mad  with  excitement. 

At  nightfall,  as  Thompson  had  predicted,  came  the 
long  retinue  of  carriages  from  Thorndale.  Every  room 
in  the  house  was  lighted-up  for  the  numerous  guests  par- 
ticipating in  the  family  joy.  Friends  had  come  from 
distant  homes  to  mingle  in  the  gaieties,  and  boundless 
satisfaction  palpitated  in  every  heart,  Mrs.  Eustace  who 
had  drooped  so  much  for  the  loss  of  Stanhope  having 
found  the  death  of  her  remaining  son  had  so  shattered 
the  father  that  he  needed  all  her  native  sunshine,  con- 
cealed her  sorrows,  and  in  the  love  she  bore  her  grandson 
not  only  participated  in  his  enjoyment  but  transferred 
much  of  her  happiness  to  her  very  quiet  and  dignified 
husband.  Judge  Eustace  had  not  shown  so  much 
satisfaction  even  at  the  wedding  of  his  son  Ash  ton  as 
now  in  this  union  so  long  an  object  of  his  solicitude,  and 
at  one  time  so  jeopardised  by  the  falsehood  of  Frederick 
Corapton. 

Philip,  after  his  recovery,  had  examined  the  pistol  with 
which  he  was  shot,  and  on  its  silver  mounting  he  found 
engraved  the  small  initial  letters  F.  C.  The  officer  who 
took  his  deposition  had  made  this  discovery,  and  showed 
them  to  Philip,  asking  him  if  he  had  an  acquaintance  to 
whose  name  they  applied.  The  truth  flashed  upon  his 
mind,  and  on  his  return  to  America,  having  learned  that 
young  Compton  had  followed  Rosamond  to  Europe,  he 
was  convinced  of  his  villainy  and  complicity  in  the  at- 
tempt to  murder.  He  never  communicated  this  informa- 
tion to  Rosamond,  knowing  it  would  occasion  her  dis- 
tress to  think  she  had  been  even   partially  the  cause  of 


480  The  Beirs  of  St.  Kilda, 

the  life-long  imprisonment  to  which  the  baffled  abductor 
and  assassin  was  sentenced  by  the  Roman  tribunals.  He 
was  unwilling  to  let  the  world  know  that  any  one,  who 
had  ever  hoped  for  the  hand  of  his  bride,  had  fallen  so 
low  ;  so  the  fate  of  the  mad  and  guilty  man  was  a  sealed 
mystery  to  those  among  whom  he  was  reared.  The  elder 
Compton,  in  spite  of  all  his  schemes,  had  been  deprived 
of  the  greater  portion  of  his  property,  and  with  a  small 
remnant  dishonestly  fled  from  the  country.  The  hand- 
some residence  and  farm  at  Gatesley  were  now  offered  for 
sale  by  those  who  had  attached  them,  and  not  one  of  the 
family  remained  in  St.  Kilda  valley. 

At  Ellesmere  were  gathered  many  of  those  who  have 
largely  occupied  the  earlier  pages  of  this  narrative.  Ar- 
thur Kean  and  his  wife,  formerly  Ida  Somerville,  were 
talking  with  Philip  and  Rosamond.  The  lawyer  had  al- 
ready secured  position  at  the  bar,  and  by  diligence  and 
probity  was  surely  and  steadily  approaching  the  highest 
honors  of  his  profession.  Mr.  Grey  was  there,  the  most 
cheerful  and  animated  spirit  of  them  all.  In  his  sacred 
functions  he  had  knit  the  holy  tie  between  the  lovers, 
and  the  good  man  seemed  almost  as  much  delighted  in 
this  happy  event  as  the  bridegroom  himself.  He  still 
devoted  his  life  to  the  humble  flock  long  ago  se- 
lected as  his  spiritual  charge,  and  with  unfaltering  zeal 
had  so  far  persevered  in  what  he  believed  his  special  duty 
toward  them.  At  times  unlooked  for  apostacies,  as  had 
been  exemplified  in  Isham,  were  repeated  by  others,  and 
thus  brought  sorrow  to  the  heart  of  the  faithful  shepherd; 
but  he  was  too  well  satisfied  with  the  good  effected  to 
abandon  them  as  incorrigible. 

Percival  St.  George  had  slowly  outlived  the  great  sor- 


7U  Wedding  Bells.  481 

row  which  had  blighted  his  youth,  and  had  become  in 
many  respects  as  other  men.  While  much  of  his  time 
was  still  spent  in  the  solitude  of  Vaucluse,  it  grew  out  of 
no  disgust  with  the  usual  enjoyments  of  men.  He  did 
not  seek  promiscuous  communion,  but  by  no  means 
shunned  the  usual  interchange  of  neighborly  cour- 
tesies. His  interest  in  Rosamond  had  overcome  much 
of  his  aversion  to  mingling  with  strangers.  In  his 
efforts  to  console  her  in  the  midst  of  her  gloom  conse- 
quent upon  their  visit  to  the  sea-side,  he  had  largely  pal- 
liated the  sting  of  his  own  long  treasured  grief.  He  now 
mingled  with  the  gay  throng  with  all  his  former  grace  of 
manner.  Alfred  Ridgely  and  his  affianced  bride,  Mae 
Glancy,  were  also  present.  Honest  Roger  Earl  was  there, 
too,  to  share  in  the  festivities  of  the  family  he  had  so  long 
and  faithfully  served.  Philip  happened  to  be  passing, 
found  him  alone,  and  at  his  request  Roger  entered 
the  blaze  of  fashion  and  loveliness.  He  approached  Rosa- 
mond and  congratulated  the  bride,  who  was,  according  to. 
his  statement,  even  more  beautiful  than  Leonora  Orsini's 
portrait  in  the  closed  room  at  Vaucluse. 

It  would  be  difficult  for  persons  who  have  dwelt  in 
other  portions  of  the  world  to  realize  the  joy  and  free- 
dom from  restraint  pervading  this  large  assembly.  All 
thought  it  their  duty  to  make  themselves  as  pleasant  a& 
possible,  rightfully  considering  gravity  and  sour  visages 
as  much  out  of  place  on  such  occasions  as  a  death's-head 
at  a  revel.  The  loveliness  of  the  bride  had  never  before 
shone  so  transcendently  above  all  competition.  She  ac- 
cepted the  duties  incident  to  her  central  and  supreme  im- 
portance in  the  throng  with  such  charming  grace,  that 
even  Philip  was  surprised  at  her  vivacity.  The  story  of. 
31 


482  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

her  love  and  suffering  being  known  to  those  present,  it 
elicited  an  admiration  and  fervor  of  regard  which  her 
delicate  perception  recognized  in  those  who  half  forgot 
her  dazzling  beauty  in  the  superior  merits  of  pure  and 
passionate  devotion.  Philip's  rescue  of  Sigismund  from 
the  burning  house  in  Germany,  with  his  previous  feats 
of  daring,  made  him  a  modern  Guy  of  Warwick  to  the 
people  of  St.  Kilda  valley.  No  theme  could  be  dearer  to 
Rosamond  than  praise  of  him;  and  she  was  gratified  on 
every  side,  not  only  by  the  spoken  truth,  but  the  very 
expression  of  mute<  eloquent  eyes  unable  to  conceal  the 
pleasure  of  beholding  his  stalwart  figure.  Judge  Eustace 
with  all  his  placidity  of  manner,  could  not  conceal 
.his  satisfaction  at  this  boundless  esteem  manifested 
ion  the  grandson,  in  whose  character  and  attainments  he 
"had  ever  been  so  absorbed. 

Philip  and  Rosamond  were  all  in  all  to  each  other,  but 
.had  too  much  appreciation  of  the  pervading  sympathy 
.surrounding  them  to  fail  in  a  proper  recognition  and  re- 
turn of  the  kindness.  The  young  wife  could  now  follow 
the  promptings  of  her  heart  without  danger  of  forming 
false  hopes  in  the  breasts  of  her  male  friends.  She 
had  never  known  the  usual  weakness  of  pretty  women  in 
.their  love  of  admiration  and  had  frequently  blamed  her- 
self for  declarations  which  in  spite  of  her  prudence  fell 
,from  the  lips  of  those  who  had  the  pleasure  of  her  radi- 
.ant  presence. 

Charles  Loundes  and  she  were  standing  a  little  remov- 
ed from  the  gay  party,  and  she  saw  from  the  thoughtful 
brow  that  something  was  engrossing  his  soul. 

"  You  are  looking,"  said  she,  "  as  if  but  half  participat- 
ing in  the  spirit   of  this   closing  scene  of  what   cousin 


The   Wedding  Bells.  483 

Percy  calls  our  melodrama.  Will  you  tell  me,  who 
as  Philip's  wife  am  in  duty  bound  to  love  you,  how 
I  can  put  to  flight  that  shadow  from  your  brow?" 

"  Yes,  Rosamond,"  said  Loundes,  "  make  Mariana  love 
me  with  half  of  your  devotion  to  Philip,  and  I  promise 
you  my  face  shall  be  a  picture  of  happiness  the  remainder 
of  my  life.  I  have  endeavored  to  control  my  love  for 
her,  for  I  see  in  spite  of  all  her  kindness  she  does  not  ap- 
preciate it.  I  have  resolved  to  make  one  last  effort  to- 
night, and  ask  her  once  more  to  become  my  wife." 

"  I  should  be  very  happy,  dear  Charles,"  said  Rosamond, 
"  if  you  and  Mariana  would  love  each  other.  I  have  not 
failed  in  telling  her  how  much  Philip  and  I  prefer  you 
to  any  one  else  as  her  husband,  but  I  dare  not  encourage 
you  to  hope.  I  think  Mariana  will  never  marry.  She 
lives  in  a  sphere  above  our  usual  human  reach.  Beyond 
her  love  for  kindred  and  friends  I  do  not  believe  she  has 
at  all  experienced  the  pleasure  and  pain  which  so  early 
visited  me  in  my  devotion  to  Philip  " 

"  Rosamond,"  said  Philip,  approaching  them,  "  the  col- 
ored people  have  requested  me  to  take  you  to  the  scene  of 
their  festivities.     They  wish  to  see  the  bride." 

"  Of  course,"  said  she,  "  we  must  comply  with  their 
wishes." 

"  Now  here's  a  young  master  and  mistiss  worth  seeing," 
said  Thompson,  who  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  door. 
"  Mass  Phil,  our  folks  has  axed  me  to  invite  you  and  Miss 
Rosamond  to  please  give  us  one  look  at  you.  We  all 
thinks  it's  good  for  sore  eyes  to  git  sight  o'  anything  nice 
as  young  mistiss.  I  was  tellen'  dem  how7  I  seed  her  las' 
night  at  Thorndale,  a  lookin'  so  much   like  de  blessed 


484  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

angels ;  an'  dey  all  wants  to  see  her  in  dem  bride's  clothes 
she's  got  on  now." 

"  Uncle  Thompson,"  said  Rosamond,  "I  am  very  much 
gratified  in  your  good  opinion.  Has  Philip  told  you 
how  often  we  spoke  of  you  when  we  were  across  the  seas 
among  all  those  strange  people  in  Europe  ?" 

"  Yes,  mistiss,  Mass  Phil,  has  told  me  all  'bout  it,  and 
the  heap  of  nice  things  you  and  he  fetched  for  me  and 
Nancy  made  us  de  proudest  niggers  in  de  valley." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  banquet  hall  of  the 
negroes,  which  was  filled  to  repletion.  The  dancing  had 
been  suspended  on  information  of  Philip's  and  Rosa- 
mond's approach,  and  they  came  forward  to  pay  their  re- 
spects to  the  young  master  and  mistress  in  whose  known 
kindness  they  had  ample  earnest  of  future  good  treat- 
ment. 

"  Mass  Philip,"  said  one,  "  I  want  you  to  fix  up  de 
house  an'  you  an'  Miss  Rosamond  stay  some  down  at 
Blenheim." 

"  What  you  talkin'  'bout,  Jack  ?"  said  another,  "  of 
course  dey  are  gwine  to  stay  all  dare  spare  time  down  at 
Thorndale." 

"  We  shall  visit  you  all  frequently,"  said  Philip. 
"  Uncle  Thompson  has  enough  horses  to  carry  us  around 
the  world." 

"  An'  de  best  horses  on  de  yeth,"  said  Thompson. 
"  Miss  Rosamond  I  wants  to  show  dem  to  you.  Mass 
Percy  keeps  Hildebrand  here,  and  Tempest  is  jes  as  good 
as  he  was  de  day  you  seed  him  beat  dat  outlandish  horse 
o'  Mr.  Compton's.  Den  dares  dem  two  fine  fellers  we  calls 
Hamlet  and  Exile,  and  if  I  was  gwine  to  die  de  next 
minit  I  couldn't  tell  which  I  likes  best,  dem  or  Selim  and 


The   Wedding  Bells.  485 

Rosamond  what  Mass  Phil,  fetched  home  wid  him. 
Mistis  I'm  afeard  for  yon  to  ride  dat  young  mare  yit. 
Blanche  is  sure-footed  enough  for  any  ridin'  you'll  do,  so 
I  want  you  to  give  her  an  airin'  sometimes,  for  Miss 
Mariana  don't  take  to  my  horses  much  no  how.  Mass 
Phil,  is  sorter  tired  o'  old  Sultan,  but  he's  as  good  as  ever. 
He  aint  a  day  older  dan  Gray  Friar  he  gin  to  Mr.  Kean  ; 
an'  he  rides  him  to  dis  day." 

"  I  hope  to  ride  Black  Sultan  many  times  more,  Uncle 
Thompson,"  said  Philip,  "but  I  should  hate  to  give  him 
such  a  day  of  it  as  when  we  followed  the  dogs  from  Satan's 
Nose  to  below  the  stone  bridge." 

"  Mass  Phil,"  said  Thompson,  "  Kitty  showed  me  dat 
same  varmint  when  I  was  over  dare  yistirday,  an'  he 
looks  pint-blank  like  he  did  'fore  a  dog's  mouth  ever 
siled  him.  I  should  be  feard  o'  hurtin'  Sultan  myself; 
but  some  ole  horses  can  stand  a  heap  o'  hard  ridin'.  Dare 
was  old  Marlboro  good  most  to  de  day  o'  his  death,  an'  it 
takes  a  horse  as  is  a  horse  to  carry  me.  Pve  bin  ridin' 
one  o'  dem  lumberin'  coach  horses  dat  I  counts  mighty 
near  next  to  nothing  'cept  tis  to  pull  a  carriage  full  of 
ladies.  Mass  Phil.  I  hope  you  aint  gwine  to  give  up  de 
country  to  de  foxes  now  you's  married  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  we  shall  stir  them  up  often,"  said  Philip, "  and 
you  will  find  it  as  hard  a  matter  to  follow  Plamlet  and 
Selim  as  you  ever  did  Black  Sultan  if  you  take  a  coach- 
horse  into  the  fields." 

"Well  master,"  said  Thompson,  "lam  gittin' so  ole 
an'  heavy  I  carry  too  much  weight  for  dem  thorough- 
breds. I  am  glad  you  like  de  young  dogs,  for  now 
Sweetlips  an'  Ringwood  is  both  dead,  I  was  afeard  you'd 
think  my  trainin'  won't  good  when  you  was  gone." 


486  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

Philip  assured  him  he  was  in  every  way  satisfied  with 
his  attention,  and  with  the  bride  returned  to  the  drawing 
rooms.  The  negroes  were  dazzled  in  the  splendor  of  the 
gentle  beauty,  for  she  seemed  to  them  a  being  almost  de- 
serving their  worship.  The  riddles  and  banjos  recom- 
menced, and  soon  the  clatter  of  resounding  feet  told  of 
fresh  life  and  mettle  in  the  sable  dancers.  What  a  care- 
less, half-reasoning  race  were  those  contented  slaves  of 
St.  Kilda  valley?  with  no  thought  for  the  morrow,  they 
passed  through  life  as  if  care  had  no  part  in  their  organ- 
ization. 

As  the  night  wore  on  Charles  Loundes  determined 
more  strongly  on  renewing  the  suit,  in  which  he  had 
such  slight  hope  of  success.  Mariana  never  seemed  so 
beautiful  to  him  as  on  this  occasion.  He  had  not  on  his 
return  from  Europe  been  pressing  in  his  solicitations,  for 
he  had  spent  the  larger  portion  of  his  time  since  that 
event  at  home  with  his  mother,  and  he  had  but  recently 
returned  to  witness  the  marriage  of  his  friend.  He  well 
knew  that  in  case  Mariana  accepted  him  her  family  would 
have  no  objection  to  their  marriage.  His  talents  and 
good  character,  together  with  the  high  position  and 
wealth  of  his  lineage,  made  him  worthy  of  any  woman's 
choice.  To  all  these  recommendations  was  added  his 
long  friendship  for  Philip.  They  had  been  for  years  to- 
gether in  strange  lands,  and  were  now  loth  to  be  separ- 
ated. He  had  no  doubt  of  the  esteem  in  which  he  was 
held  by  the  object  of  his  devotion,  but  her  strange  im- 
munity from  usual  faults  seemed  to  have  rendered  her 
superior  to  any  necessity  of  communion  with  others  in 
hours  of  depression.  Mariana  was  entirely  removed  from 
any   such    ills    as    grief    and    melancholy,   and    knew 


The   Wedding  Bells  437 

nothing  of  those  dim  and  unaccountable  hours  of  dejec- 
tion often  incident  to  her  own  sex.  Her  only  distress  was 
an  occasional  suggestion  of  her  own  heart  that  she  was 
not  sufficiently  absorbed  in  her  devotion  to  heaven.  No 
earthly  pleasure  or  care  obstructed  her  view  of  the  celes- 
tial courts,  and  there  centered  the  sources  of  her  cloudless 
serenity.  The  organ  she  still  so  much  used  was  under 
her  touch  the  utterance  of  some  beautiful  prayer.  She 
had  confessed  this  one  evening  to  Rosamond  when  no  one 
but  themselves  was  present. 

"  Mariana,"  said  Rosamond,  "  what  is  passing  through 
your  soul  when  you  are  making  that  wild  and  solemn 
music?" 

"  Rosamond,"  said  she,  "  I  can  scarcely  tell  you  how  I 
feel  when  alone  with  my  organ.  It  has  become  the  voice 
of  inv  soul,  and  I  come  here  to  forget  the  world.  I  can 
then  express  things  my  tongue  is  powerless  to  utter.  I 
know  God  can  understand  all  my  longings,  whether  they 
assume  the  form  of  words  or  ascend  in  this  other  incense 
of  worship." 

Rosamond,  with  all  her  devotion,  could  not  rise  to  the 
comprehension  of  this  complete  abstraction  of  a  soul  sur- 
rounded by  so  much  to  bind  it  earthward.  She  was  too 
much  absorbed  in  Philip  to  understand  how  a  world,  so 
gloriously  beautiful  to  her,  should  become  of  such  small 
moment  to  a  lovely  young  woman  like  Mariana.  She 
had  once  tired  of  life,  and  longed  for  oblivion  and  rest; 
but  she  now  shuddered  at  herself  for  entertaining  such 
sinful  disregard  of  her  duty.  Mariana's  blindness  had 
not  been  without  its  lessons.  She  had  come  to  the  light 
again,  but  was  unwilling  to  forego  one  atom  of  former 
consolation.     Had  she  been  of  the  opposite  sex,  and  lived 


488  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

in  sUch  an  age,  she   would   have   realized   the   beautiful 
character  of  Sir  Galahad  ; 

"A  Maiden  knight — to  me  is  given 

Such  hope,  I  know  not  fear ; 
I  yearn  to  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven 

That  often  meet  me  here. 
I  muse  on  joy  that  will  not  cease, 

Pure  spaces  clothed  in  living  beams. 
Pure  lilies  of  eternal  peace, 

Whose  odors  haunt  my  dreams." 

Charles  Loundes  and  Mariana  were  standing  in  the 
opened  bay-window  of  the  central  drawing  room.  The 
moonlight  fell  upon  their  faces,  and  the  happy  voices  of 
the  katydids  were  busy  in  their  night-music. 

"  Philip  and  Rosamond/'  said  Charles,  "  are  so  happy  I 
almost  envy  them.  A  singular  succession  of  happy  inci- 
dents have  combined  to  render  him  contented  with  his 
lot.  Everybady  seems  to  love  him,  and  when  I  first  met 
Rosamond  as  Venetia  Hastings,  I  was  confident  she  could 
not  remain  indifferent  to  him.  Think  you  this  Don 
Giovanni,  as  we  sometimes  call  him,  could  have  won  your 
love  had  you  not  been  his  sister?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mariana,  "  I  should  have  loved  him  for 
his  noble  nature,  just  as  I  regard  you,  dear  friend,  because 
you  are  true  and  good.  I  am  easily  won  by  those  I  ad- 
mire, and  wonder  why  you  should  ask  me  if  I  should  not 
esteem  Philip  as  every  one  else  does." 

"  I  do  not  refer  to  friendship,  Mariana,"  said  Loundes. 
"One  can  have  manv  friends,  and  esteem  them  all.  I 
mean  that  greater  and  more  absorbing  devotion  which 
has  been  separated  from  mere  good-will  and  well  defined 
in  the  term — love." 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Mariana,  "  but,  at  the  same 


The   Wedding  Bells.  489 

time,  I  fail  to  appreciate  your  meaning.  I  can  easily 
realize  how  I  might  become  attached  to  one  for  other 
reasons  than  admiration  of  his  goodness,  but  I  could 
never  see  why  Rosamond  should  have  been  troubled 
when  she  thought  Philip  was  loving  another.  -I  am  sure 
the  Countess  of  Schulemberg  was  worthy  of  his  regard." 
"  Oh!  Mariana,"  said  Loundes,  "  if  you  were  fully  aware 
of  the  despair  I  feel  in  hearing  that  declaration  amid  all 
this  joy ;  I  know  in  your  heart  you  would  pity  my  suffer- 
ing. I  met  your  brother  when  I  had  been  just  shot  down 
and  preserved,  almost  by  a  miracle,  from  death.  I  was 
in  the  midst  of  a  wild,  unthinking  course  of  vice  and 
folly ;  but  learning  lessons  of  wisdom  from  him,  became 
another  being.  Great  as  was  the  change,  there  has  been 
and  still  is  abundant  room  for  improvement ;  but  when  I 
first  met  you,  I  was  impressed  with  the  idea  that  you 
were  fore-ordained  to  the  work  of  my  further  regeneration 
and  disenthralment  from  the  empire  of  evil.  I  accepted, 
with  all  joy,  this  promise  of  my  own  rash  heart.  I  was 
confident  I  should  find  peace  and  happiness  in  your 
presence,  could  I  but  call  you  mine.  For  more  than  a 
year  I  kept  these  fond  hopes  locked  in  the  recesses  of  my 
breast,  and  it  was  not  until  we  were  nearing  the  close  of 
our  voyage  to  Europe  that  I  told  you  of  my  love.  From 
your  kindness,  I  hoped  I  was  not  indifferent  to  you,  and 
in  that  trust  found  my  happiness;  but  you  destroyed 
much  of  hope  even  then.  I  consoled  myself  in  the  fact 
of  your  youth  and  affliction  ;  trusting  that  when  you  had 
grown  to  full  womanhood  and  the  free  use  of  your  dear, 
darkened  eyes,  I  might  yet  find  my  joy.  That  expecta- 
tion has  never  forsaken  me  since  ;  and,  whatever  I  seem 
to  others,  you  have  been  present  in  all  my  thoughts.    As 


490  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

I  studied  to  make  myself  worthy  of  you,  your  image  fol- 
lowed me  through  all  the  mouldering  cities  of  the  East; 
and  I  have  brought  this  love,  still  fresh  and  ever  increas- 
ing, again  to  your  notice.  Can  3-011  fail  to  appreciate  the 
value  of  such  an  offering?  Can  this  devotion  of  my  heart 
not  stir  some  answering  throe  in  yours?  In  the  name  of 
your  goodness  and  pity  for  all  things  else,  do  not  over- 
look this  necessity  I  feel  for  your  love." 

"  Alas  !  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mariana,  "  how  unhappy 
you  make  me  in  speaking  thus.  I  have  not  hidden  my 
love  for  you,  and  after  all  my  assurances  you  seem  dis- 
satisfied. You  have  been  almost  as  dear  to  me  as  Philip, 
and  with  him  }rou  have  been  ever  in  my  pikers;  how 
then  can  you  think  me  indifferent  to  what  you  call  your 
necessity  for  my  love  ?" 

The  moonlight  was  streaming  through  the  window 
upon  the  two,  and  the  lover,  with  bowed  head,  was  fast 
surrendering  those  hopes  which  had  hitherto,  with  doubt- 
ful effulgence,  illumined  his  dim  glimpses  of  the  future. 
Sore  and  bitter  was  the  ta^k  in  thus  uprooting  from  his 
heart  a  trust  he  had  considered  so  feeble.  He  remained 
silent  for  a  minute,  as  he  felt  that  the  golden  gateway  of 
bliss  was  being  closed  upon  him  forever. 

"  Mariana,"  said  he,  "  if  I  loved  you  less,  I  might  be 
capable  of  persuading  you  that  with  these  sentiments  of 
sisterly  regard  you  have  expressed  for  me,  there  was  still 
affection  enough  to  warrant  our  marriage.  I  shall  urge 
no  such  plea.  While  I  believe  your  esteem  is  greater 
than  that  which  leads  to  most  marriages,  I  cannot  think 
of  degrading  the  holiest  and  sweetest  of  ties  to  such  a 
level.  In  this  relation  there  should  be  some  such  devo- 
tion as  seen  in  Philip  and  Rosamond.     I  have  been  too 


The    Wedding  Bells.  491 

long  in  sight  of  the  Aidenne  of  their  jo}T,  not  to  have 
caught  some  of  the  roseate  hues  streaming  through  the 
open  portals.  I  dare  not,  with  all  the  love  I  bear  you, 
ask  you  to  become  my  wife  without  feeling  some  of  the 
importunate  necessity  I  experience  for  your  presence.  In 
reaching  this  determination,  my  sensations  are  those  of 
some  despairing  seaman  perishing  amid  the  sea  with  the 
isles  of  the  blest  in  fall  view,  but  ,alas,  forever  unattain- 
able!" 

w  You  will  some  day  smile  as  you  remember  this  fervor, 
dear  friend,"  said  Mariana,  "and  when  you  shall  marry 
a  fair  girl  who  can  appreciate  these  feelings  which  seem 
so  strange  to  me,  you  will  rejoice  that  I  have  not  con- 
sented to  assume  duties'for  which  I  have  no  inclination." 

"I  shall  never  marry,"  said  he,  "until  I  can  teach  my 
heart  to  regard  you  as  nothing  dearer  than  a  friend. 
"When  I  shall  have  accomplished  this  I  shall  look  around 
me  in  the  world  fur  some  one  in  whose  love  I  can  expect 
repose  and  happiness.  To  accomplish  this  task  of  self 
mastery  I  shall  not,  like  a  coward,  fly  from  your  presence, 
for  it  will  ever  be  one  of  my  dearest  pleasures  to  behold 
you  in  your  goodness  and  beaut\\  I  feel  no  trace  of  re- 
sentment that  you  have  not  loved  me  as  I  desired,  for  it 
has  been  no  fault  of  yours.  You  have  lived  too  close  to 
heaven  not  to  have  lost  much  of  earth,  and  you  are  too 
exalted  for  me  to  disturb  your  serenity  by  sjmipathy  with 
my  poor  joys  and  griefs.  My  greatest  consolation  is  the 
thought  of  the  slight  possibility  of  another  winning 
the  prize  which  I  feel  is  beyond  my  reach." 

"You  may  rest  safely  assured  in  that  trust,"  said  Mari- 
ana. "If  I  have  refused  to  marry  you,  so  long  dear  to 
my  thoughts,  there  is  small   prospect  of  change  in  my 


492  The  Heirs  of  St.  Kilda. 

determination.  You  possess  all  the  qualities  which  I 
have  seen  engaging  the  affections  of  other  girls  around 
me,  and,  if  after  endeavoring  to  realize  similar  feelings 
toward  you,  I  have  failed  in  this,  the  season  of  our  youth, 
I  am  confident  my  disposition  will  remain  unaltered  in 
riper  years.  I  have  long  examined  my  heart  to  see  if  I 
was  so  disposed  toward  you  as  to  justify  me  in  becoming 
your  wife.  While  there  was  pleasure  in  the  contempla- 
tion, I  was  all  along  convinced  I  possessed  but  little  of 
the  attachment  which  would  fit  me  for  your  bride.  So 
we  will  be  the  dearest  of  friends.  I  am  very  glad  to  hear 
you  have  purchased  Mr.  Compton's  place,  and  as  you  will 
live  near  us  I  know  I  shall  love  your  mother." 

"  She  has  consented  to  come  to  the  Valley  of  St.  Kilda 
as  her  future  home,"  said  Loundes,  "  and  will  be  doubt- 
less very  fond  of  one  she  has  hoped  to  call  daughter. 
But  that  is  all  past  now;  help  me  to  bury  these  dead 
hopes  out  of  our  sight,  and  if  in  coming  years  these  fond 
dreams  which  have  followed  me  to  so  little  purpose  shall 
steal  up  unbidden,  you  shall  only  see  them  in  the  passing 
glance.  I  expect  they  will  sometimes  revisit  me  in  the 
pale  glimpses  of  the  moon,  but  they  shall  come  and  go 
as  silently  as  ghosts,  and  like  those  flitting  shadows  of 
the  night  shall  fly  before  the  sunlight  of  my  reason  and 
determination." 

"  Bravely  and  manfully  spoken,  dear  Charles,"  said  she. 
"  Persevere  in  such  resolution  and  we  will  both  be  happy 
in  our  love  as  friends." 

They  left  the  moonlit  seclusion  of  the  window,  and 
mingled  in  the  flowing  happiness  of  the  merry  dancers. 
The  quiet  stars  looked  down  with  the  same  aspect  of 
eternal  and  changeless  beauty  they  wore  on  the  evening 


The   Wedding  Bells.  493 

of  tlieir  creation.  What  difference  could  it  make  in  the 
universe,  whether  joy  or  woe  filled  the  haunts  of  men  ? 
What  was  even  the  sum  of  all  life  in  one  planet  to  the 
countless  worlds  thronging  the  vast  spaces  of  infinity? 

"  These  our  actors 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,   and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air, 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherits  shall  dissolve  ; 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind  :     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep/' 

THE  END, 


